Summary: You and your Mandalorian have an argument and you want to make him jealous.
Warnings: 18+only. Smut đ
A/N: I teased this as a WIP before and hereâs the full version. This is definitely staying as a one-shot and isnât part of Through The Wall. Enjoy! đ„°
The argument had started over something stupid. Thatâs the worst part - you canât even hold onto the shape of it anymore, only the heat.
Something about a job. Something about him going in alone, again, without telling you. Something about the way he'd said it's safer this way in that flat, modulated tone that always made you feel like a child being sent to bed early.
You told him to go fuck himself. He told you, very calmly, that you were being unreasonable. And then he walked off the ramp of the Crest and down into the dust of whatever nameless Outer Rim moon you've put down on - Karthos, Karthon, you canât remember - without looking back.
So here you are, in a cantina on your third drink. Itâs the kind of dim, smoky hole-in-the-wall where the patrons donât ask questions and the bartender keeps his blaster within easy reach of the till. Spice-burners murmur in a corner booth and a Twi'lek dances half-heartedly on a lit platform near the back.
The air has that sweet rotten tang of cheap Corellian whiskey and unwashed bodies, and you nurse your first glass long enough to feel the slow loosening behind your ribs, the kind of warmth that talks you into trouble.
Dinâs at the bar. You can feel the beskar before you see it - that particular density in the room, the way other patrons give him a careful half-metre of space without meaning to.
He hasnât sat with you. He didnât even look at you when he came in. He's taken a stool at the far end of the long curved bar, ordered something he wonât drink, and angled the dark visor of his helmet toward the door like heâs guarding it. Like you arenât even there.
Fine, you think. Fine, fine, fine.
You cross one leg over the other, the slit of your skirt rides up your thigh, and you donât smooth it down.
Thatâs when the man slips into the booth across from you.
Heâs human, mostly - thereâs something in the cheekbones that suggests a near-human grandmother somewhere in the family tree, a faint silvery cast under the warm brown of his skin - and heâs handsome in a way that isnât subtle.
He has dark hair thatâs pushed back from his forehead, a smuggler's coat, and a smile that arrives ahead of him by a half-second, like he's been practicing it on the way over.
You look like a woman who's been left to drink alone,â he says, settling in like he's been invited.
You raise your eyebrow over the rim of your glass. "Maybe I like drinking alone."
"Maybe." His teeth are very white. "Or maybe whoever left you alone is a fool to think youâll stay alone.
Across the room, you donât have to look. You can feel the slow, deliberate turn of the helmet, the shift of focus, the whole black mirror of that visor sliding toward your booth with the patience of a hunting cat.
Your pulse kicks once - hard - and you smile.
"That's a very tired line," you tell him, letting the smile do the work, letting it linger a beat too long, letting your tongue touch the edge of your bottom lip as you say it. "What's your name?"
"Kal," he says. "Kal Renn."
"Kal," you repeat, like youâre tasting it.
You arenât. Youâre tasting the way Din's posture has gone very, very still at the other end of the room. You can picture it without looking - that hand resting on the bar that has stopped tapping. The slow inhale you know so well that filters through the vocoder as a faint mechanical hiss.
"And yours?" Kal prompts
You tell him. You even lean forward when you do it, your elbow on the table, your chin in your palm, your hair falling in a slow curtain over one shoulder.
The neckline of your shirt shifts with you, and Kal's eyes do exactly what eyes do when a neckline shifts. You watch him watch you and you think - he's looking. He's looking and you're letting him and Din is watching and you let him and think, good, let him watch.
You know itâs petty, you know itâs childish and you donât care.
"Can I buy you another?" Kal asks, nodding at your nearly empty glass.
"Please."
He flags down a serving droid and orders something more expensive than what you've been drinking.
He asks you where youâre from, you lie prettily and he laughs at the lie like he knows it is one and doesnât mind. You laugh back, and the whole time thereâs a second conversation happening across the room in silence, in the angle of a helmet, in the way a gloved hand closes slowly into a fist on the bar and then, very deliberately, opens again.
Kal leans closer over the table. He has the kind of cologne that's trying too hard - leather and citrus and something musky underneath. He smells like a man whoâs used to being told he smells good, so you oblige and he grins.
"That Mandalorian over there," he says, low, conspiratorial. "He's been staring at you since I sat down."
Has he.â
"You know him?"
You tilt your head and consider the question. Consider the man who hasnât sat with you, the one who walked off the ramp without looking back. Who is, even now, doing the silent stone-still thing he does when heâs furious, the thing where he becomes more like a piece of armour than a person, because Maker forbid Din Djarin ever just says whatâs eating him.
"I know him," you say lightly. "He's nothing."
It isnât even close to true. Itâs the cruelest thing you've said all month and you say it because you know the vocoder will catch everything in this little cantina and his helmet's external mics are almost certainly tuned to your voice the way they always are when heâs worried about you, the bastard.
And you want him to hear it. You want him to hear you call him nothing.
Kal's grin widens and he reaches across the table, brushing two knuckles down the back of your hand. "Then dance with me."
You donât even hesitate.
You slide out of the booth, take his hand, and let him lead you out toward the little square of scuffed floor in front of the bandstand where two other couples are swaying to something slow and sad in a key meant for losing money.
The music is warm, the lights low. Kal puts a hand on your waist, and you realise immediately that itâs the wrong hand - too smooth, too soft, no glove - and you let him put it there anyway.
You dance, letting him spin you, letting him pull you a little closer than you should allow. His thumb traces a slow circle just above your hipbone through the fabric of your shirt and you laugh at something he murmurs against your temple.
Over his shoulder, between the haze of smoke and the dim flicker of the lamps, you see the helmet, the bar, the empty stool where he was sitting.
Now heâs on his feet. Not moving, just standing there at the bar, half-turned, watching you, and the room around him has gone quiet in the particular way rooms go quiet when people sense weather coming.
You should have stopped then.
You donât.
You slide your free hand up over Kal's shoulder, thread your fingers into the hair at the back of his neck, and tip your face up toward his.
Kal, whoâs been waiting for an invitation and has finally received one, lowers his head toward yours with the slow inevitability of a man about to kiss a stranger in a cantina on a planet whose name he probably canât pronounce.
You feel the air change before he reaches you.
You feel him - the displacement of beskar through a crowd. The polite, deliberate way Mandalorians move when theyâre choosing not to draw a weapon.
A hand closes around the back of Kal's collar and lifts him a full inch off the floor, setting him gently to one side as if heâs a piece of furniture being repositioned.
"That's mine," Din says.
Just that - two words through the modulator, low and even and so quiet that only the three of you hear them.
Kal - to his credit - takes one look at the visor and decides, audibly, that he likes his teeth where they are. He raises both palms, takes a slow step backward, then another, and then heâs gone into the crowd without a word.
The music keeps playing, and the Twi'lek on her platform never even breaks rhythm.
You open your mouth to say something cutting - something about ownership and about him not having any right.
Din's hand closes around your wrist.
It isnât rough, thatâs the worst of it. His grip is the same controlled, deliberate pressure he uses on the grip of his rifle - exact, unhurried, impossible to slip.
He doesnât drag you, he just turns and walks, and the distance between his fist and your wrist doesnât change, and so you walk too.
You make your way out of the cantina into the night. The double moons are up, throwing two overlapping shadows that lengthen and shorten as you cross the packed-dirt landing strip.
The air bites colder than it has any right to and you can hear his breath through the vocoder - measured, very measured, the way he breathes when heâs choosing not to do something violent.
You find your voice somewhere between the cantina door and the Crest's lowered ramp.
"Let go of me."
He ignores you.
"Din."
The ramp closes behind you with a hydraulic sigh and the hold lights come up in low amber. He lets go of your wrist exactly as the seal hisses shut, and you stumble a half-step at the sudden absence.
You turn to face him with every furious thing youâve been rehearsing in the back of your throat, but heâs already on you.
His hand catches the back of your neck. Not your hair, your neck, his palm wide and warm even through the leather, his fingers spread, his thumb just under the hinge of your jaw.
He walks you backward three steps until your shoulder blades met the bulkhead, and the cold of the durasteel through your shirt makes you gasp.
He stops there, caging you in. The other hand braces flat on the wall beside your head, the visor a hand's breadth from your face.
"Nothing," he says, the modulator making it sound like gravel. "I'm nothing."
âDinâŠâ
"You let him touch you."
"You walked off the ramp withoutâŠâ
"You let him put his hand on you."
"You wouldn't even sit with me!"
He goes so still you feel it through the hand at your throat. The grip doesnât tighten, but it doesnât have to. You feel every individual finger as a separate point of attention.
"Tell me," he says, very low, very even, "what you were going to do if I hadn't come over."
You didn't answer.
"Tell me, cyar'ika."
The endearment comes out of the vocoder like a brand. He hasnât said it once in three days, hasnât said it once since the argument. He's been vode'ika this and ad'ika that with everyone else on every comm line and youâve been you and hey and silence, and now, now, when he has you pinned to his own bulkhead with one hand on your throat, now he remembers the word.
"I was going to kiss him," you say. Itâs pure spite, a pure lie. Pure idiot bravado dressed up in your second-best voice.
The hand at your neck slides up, slowly. His thumb traces the line of your jaw to your chin, tipping your face up, and holding it there. The visor is so close you can see your own eyes reflected in it, wide, glittering, furious and scared in a way that isnât really scared at all.
"No," he says, âyou weren't."
How would youâŠ?â
"Because you looked at me first."
You stop breathing.
"Every time he leaned in," he says and the modulator does nothing to soften it, "you looked at me. You wanted me to see."
"IâŠâ
"You wanted me to come over there."
"I didn'tâŠâ
"Say it."
Your throat moves under his thumb. You canât get the word out, you canât look away and you canât, for the life of you, remember why you've been angry, why the thing about the job had mattered, why anything had mattered other than the fact that heâs here and heâs come and heâs furious and his hand is on your throat and the heat of him is bleeding through the beskar where his chestplate presses almost-but-not-quite against yours.
"Yes," you whisper.
"Yes what?â
"Yes, I wanted you to see."
He exhales, and somehow itâs the most human sound he's made all night.
"Good girl," he says.
Oh, fuck.
Your knees nearly go. You've never been a good girl in your life and you argued with him about that very phrase the first time he ever tried it on you, and heâs using it now with deliberate, weaponised accuracy. Your thighs press together involuntarily, and his helmet tilts a precise half-degree as he catches the motion.
"Mm," he says.
The hand on your throat slides down over your collarbone and down the line of your sternum with the same patient pressure he used on your wrist.
He hooks one finger in the neckline of your shirt and pulls, not hard, just enough to test the seam, and the fabric gives with a small dry sound. He keeps pulling, and the cheap stitching rips from collar to navel in a single clean tear that leaves the two halves of the shirt hanging open, your breast band on display and goosebumps rising along every inch of skin heâs just exposed.
"DinâŠâ
"Quiet."
He says it without heat, just an instruction.
You shut up.
His glove ghosts across your stomach. The leather is warm from his body and cool from the cabin air at once, and it raises a line of fine, fierce shivering everywhere it touches.
He traces the underwire of your band and the seam of your waistband. He finds the soft notch at your hip and presses his thumb there until you make a sound you havenât meant to make.
"He didnât get to hear that," he says.
No."
"He's never going to."
"No."
"Say it."
"He's never going to."
"Whose are you?â
The question lands so quietly you almost miss it. The vocoder flattens it into something that could have been a statement and could have been a prayer.
His helmet tips forward until the brow of it is almost touching yours, the visor filling your whole field of view. You can see, very faintly, the suggestion of his eyes behind it - not the eyes themselves, just the dark shape of where they are. The focus - the absolute and unblinking focus of a man who has walked a stranger off your body and then locked the two of you inside a metal box together to settle it.
"Yours," you say.
"Louder."
"Yours."
He makes a sound, a low, broken click. Without the modulator, it would have been a groan, the kind of low gutted groan he gives you when you say exactly the right thing, when your mouth is on him and you swallow and look up and his hips buck against your held-down hand.
You know that sound. You feel the shape of it through the helmet.
His gloved hand is on your thigh. He pushes your skirt up slowly, deliberately, gathering the fabric in his fist until itâs bunched at your hip. The cool air of the hold hits the wet patch already soaking through your underwear, and his glove slides up the inside of your thigh and stops just two knuckles away from where you want him.
"You're soaked," he says. âFor me, or for him?"
Your hips jerk helplessly. âFor you," you say. "For you, for you, for you, you stupid jealousâŠâ
His hand closes over you through the wet fabric and whatever you had been going to call him dissolves into a high noise you didnât recognise as your own.
He doesnât move his hand. He just holds it there, flat and warm, the leather pressing the soaked cotton against you so that you can feel every seam, every ridge of his glove, every line of his palm.
You grind forward against it shamelessly and he lets you, then takes the hand away.
You whine and know youâll be embarrassed about it later.
"Turn around."
"Din, pleaseâŠâ
"Turn. Around."
You turn and he helps you, his hands at your hips, guiding you so your palms come up flat against the cold bulkhead. Your forehead presses against it next, so your back arches out the way he wants, the way he's taught you, the way you know.
The torn shirt slides off your shoulders and pools at your elbows. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your underwear and drags them down to mid-thigh - not all the way off, just down, just far enough - and the deliberate half-measure of it makes you clench around nothing.
You hear him work the catch on his codpiece. You donât turn your head because you donât need to. You feel the heat of him a second before you feel the rest, the blunt familiar shape of him sliding through the slick at the apex of your thighs, not in, not yet, just dragging slow and warm along the length of you, coating himself. Your hands flex against the wall and your breath fogs the durasteel.
"Tell me again," he says, the vocoder right at your ear now, the cold edge of the helmet brushing your temple. "Whose?â
"Yours."
He pushes in.
Itâs not gentle or rough but thorough, the slow inevitable press of a man who knows exactly how youâre built, exactly how much you can take and exactly how to take it.
You feel every inch of him going in, every inch, until his hips meet the curve of your ass and his gloved hand comes around to splay flat across your stomach and hold you there against him.
"Fuck," you breathe.
Mhm."
He doesnât move. He holds and lets you feel it. He presses his other hand flat to the bulkhead beside yours, his chestplate cool against your bare back through the torn fabric, the edge of the cuirass biting just slightly into your shoulder blade in a way that should hurt and doesnât and that makes you arch back into it instead.
Then he starts to move.
He fucks you the way he fights - efficient, deliberate, devastating. Each stroke long, each one pulling almost all the way out before driving back in to the hilt, each one timed to a rhythm that you canât predict because he changes it every time you try to meet him.
He takes you apart on patience. He uses the wall and his hand on your stomach and his weight at your back to keep you exactly where he wants you, and he never goes faster than he means to, no matter how you whimper, or how you try to push back.
"He was going to put his mouth on yours," he says against your ear. "Wasn't he?â
"YesâŠâ
"He's not going to."
"No.
"Nobody is but me."
"No."
"Say it."
Nobody," you gasp. Nobody, nobody, just youâŠâ
"That's right."
His hand slides up from your stomach, between your breasts and closes loose around the front of your throat. He uses it to tilt your head back against his pauldron and the angle changes everything.
He sinks deeper and you sob.
"Look at you," he says, the vocoder breaking a little around the words. "Took some stranger's hand and walked out onto that floor. Let him touch your waist. Let him put his mouth that close to yours."
"I'm sâŠâ
"Don't apologise."
You couldn't have finished the word anyway. He shifts his hips, finds the angle that makes your knees try to buckle, and is using it now with the same patient deliberation heâs used on everything else this evening - like heâs testing a weapon's calibration or filing notes.
Every stroke drags across the place inside you that turns your spine to wet rope. You canât get a breath that isnât his.
"I'm not angry you wanted it," he says.
You whimper.
"I'm angry you thought you had to earn it."
That breaks something in you, some small petty knot at the base of your sternum thatâs been pulled tight for three days.
Your eyes sting and you squeeze them shut against the cold of the bulkhead, feeling the first hot tear cut down your cheek. You donât even care, donât even try to hide it, because heâs said the thing, the thing you havenât been able to find words for in the argument. He says it with his hand on your throat and his cock buried in you and the helmet pressed against the side of your head, and that is, Maker help you, exactly how Din Djarin apologises.
"I just wanted you to look at me," you whisper.
The hand at your throat tightens, just once, just for a heartbeat, the smallest possible squeeze. An acknowledgment.
"I'm looking, cyar'ika."
He pulls almost all the way out and holds there. You sob for it, push back against him, and his free hand comes down hard on your hip and pins you, making you whine high in your throat.
"PleaseâŠâ
"Please what?â
"Please, Din, please, pleaseâŠâ
"Tell me again."
"Yours. Yours, only yours, pleaseâŠâ
He drives all the way back in, the sound that comes out of you is not dignified and does it again and again just to hear it. The rhythm breaks for the first time since he's started - the careful patient tempo finally fraying - and now heâs fucking you, properly fucking you, the way he does when heâs stopped thinking. When his hips are ahead of his head, when the noises catching in the vocoder are ragged and unmodulated and almost, almost like his real voice.
His hand leaves your throat and slides down to find you exactly where you need it. He presses, and circles andâŠ
"DinâŠDin, I'mâŠâ
"I know."
"I can'tâŠâ
"Yes you can, come on."
The leather of his glove moves against you, slick now with your need. The deep relentless drag of him inside you, and his voice through the modulator at your ear saying come on, cyar'ika, come on, that's it, that's my girl, breaks you apart against the wall of his own ship with his armoured body bracketing yours and his hand between your thighs and his name in your mouth like a curse, like a prayer, like a deed of ownership signed in your own shaking voice.
He fucks you through it and doesnât stop. He holds you up against the bulkhead with the flat of his forearm across your collarbones and the splay of his glove on your hip and he chases you through the long shuddering aftershocks of it.
Only when youâre limp, when your forehead is pressed loose to the durasteel and youâre making small, wet broken noises that arenât words, only then does his rhythm finally falter. Only then do his hips stutter, only then does the vocoder catch on a noise thatâs almost a groan, and he buries himself to the hilt and holds.
You feel him pulse inside you in long warm waves, and the helmet presses hard between your shoulder blades and stays there.
For a long moment neither of you move.
You can hear the hold ticking around you as it cools. His glove is still flat on your hip. His other arm is still bracing your weight against him because your legs arenât holding you up anymore. They've given out somewhere between the second and third aftershock and heâs simply taken your weight without commenting on it, the way he takes everything.
He eases out of you slowly and you whimper at the loss. He makes a low soothing sound through the modulator that is, in any language, I know, I know.
He turns you in his arms and you go without resistance. Your forehead finds the cold brow of his helmet and rests there, his gloved hand coming up and cradling the back of your skull.
For a long moment thatâs all there is - his breath through the vocoder and yours unmodulated against the chestplate, and the slow steadying knock of his pulse where you've pressed your palm flat to the side of his neck without remembering doing it.
"I'm sorry," you say, finally, honestly. âFor what I said in there."
"I know."
"You're not nothing."
"I know, cyar'ika."
"I was angry."
"I know."
His thumb moves against the nape of your neck. âI should have sat with you," he says quietly.
You close your eyes.
"Yes."
"I will next time."
"Okay."
He lets out a long breath through the modulator and you feel the tension go out of his shoulders in stages, the way it does when he finally sets down a rifle after a long watch.
His hand slides from the back of your neck, down your spine, comes to rest in the dip of your lower back, and stays there.
"Lights," he says, low, to the ship.
The hold goes dark, all but the dim amber strip along the floor that guides you forward when he turns you, gently, toward the bunk.
You feel rather than see him reach up and break the seal on the helmet. Hear the soft hiss, the mechanical click, the faint rustle as he sets it aside on the crate by the bunk in the dark you canât see through.
And then, finally- finally - you feel his bare mouth on yours, warm and a little chapped at the corner, as familiar as your own name.
He kisses you slowly, deeply, and he tastes like the sour cheap whiskey he hasnât drunk and like him, just him, and you make a small wrecked sound into his mouth that he catches with his tongue and gives you back something softer.
"Mine," he murmurs against your lips, just his voice, rough and low and entirely his own. "Say it one more time, just for me."
"Yours," you whisper
"Good girl."
He picks you up and carries you the three steps to the bunk in the dark, lays you down and climbs up after you.
His now bare hand settles warm against your cheek, his thumb wipes the last drying salt from under your eye, and he kisses you again, softer this time. Then again, and again, until the argument is a thing thatâs happened to two other people on a planet whose name neither of you will remember in a week.
Chapter summary: You and Harry officially become Gracieâs parents. Life is perfect ever since.
Rating: 18+ MDNI
Chapter warnings: pure fluff and love, adoption, foster care, language, past struggles conceiving mentioned, alcohol consumption
Words: 6.5k
Notes: I canât believe Iâm saying that⊠Welcome to the last chapter of The Winner Takes It All series! Iâm so happy and also so sad this day came. Itâs my first series on Tumblr and it means the world to me. I want to thank you for all the nice words, all the encouragement. Itâs been an honor to write for you and share this story. I apologize for any mistakes, English is not my first language. Please, do not copy my work. Thank you!
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Itâs your third meeting with Gracie.
This time at her foster home. Tanya, her foster mom, watches form aside as you and Harry step into the living room. The house is cozy. Smaller than your penthouse, but you see the kids here have everything provided. It soothes your nerves.
âHi, sweetheart.â You greet the little girl as you sit on a couch. Gracie looks up at you, then at your husband. She lifts her hand and gives you a little wave.
Thatâs good.
You canât stop smiling as you watch her playing on a carpet. Now she is focused on some sensory book. She mumbles to herself, completely in her own world.
âWe missed you, Gracie.â Harry says and she spares you a glance. Then back again to her book.
Since you met her your lives revolve around her. You wanna know everything, be there for every moment. But you canât, itâs not that simple. There are many other couples who would like to adopt a two-years-old. Your job is to be the best one from all the candidates.
So far, you are. Thatâs what your caseworker said.
âLook.â Gracie holds up the book. There are some animals on it, some soft elements to touch for kids. Little girl smiles at this like it was something groundbreaking. For her it is. So, you and Harry instantly coo, admiring it just like she does.
âThatâs amazing, Gracie.â Harry says, but then you decide to be brave and you lower yourself from the couch onto the carpet. âCan I see?â You scoot closer and are so happy when she doesnât run away.
Instead, Grace sits next to you. Now the book resting in your lap and the little girl leans against your side. You might start crying, if you werenât so terrified sheâd pull away. So you just gently run your fingers through her soft, blonde hair. She seems to enjoy being next to you.
âLook, what does the dog say?â You point at the page in the book.
âWoof! Woof!â Gracie sounds excited and you laugh. You glance sideways for a moment to see Harry admiring you. He gives you this moment alone with her, because he knows how anxious you are about Grace not liking you. If you only saw yourself with his eyes⊠Gracie already loves you. Even if sheâs too shy to express it.
Youâre giving her the attention sheâs lacking in the crowded foster home.
Youâre making her feel important.
To you both, she is important.
âItâs soft. Fur.â You bring her little hand to touch the page where the dog is made of a fur-like material. She runs her hand back and forth like sheâs petting it. âYou like doggies?â
âYes! Doggies nice and they do Woof!â
âExactly. Harry, do the Woof.â You look at your husband and he sighs amused. Of course you would set him up like that.
But without any protest he sits in front of you both and leans in to Gracie. With a funny face, he barks once making the girl squeal in pure happiness. She reaches her hand to pat his head like he was a real dog.
Normally, he would never ever do that. Heâs too serious for that, right? But where it comes to Gracie and to you? God, heâd do anything. Even if he feels a bit like an idiot acting like a dog⊠He doesnât mind that. Because hearing Gracie laugh, so carefree and joyful⊠It fills him with this unknown before pride. Fatherly pride.
He would make a fool of himself for the rest of his life it means being with his family.
And you see that, too.
Harry changed in a way you never expected few years back. Heâs not afraid, heâs not retreating. Heâs right here, doing everything to make Gracie happy. His smile is so wide whenever youâre with her⊠It moves you deeply that he is not afraid anymore of all that love he carries inside.
And now both of you have someone you could shower with this love. Youâre sure Gracie will be yours. And when she is? Youâre gonna show her how much she means every day. Nothing will stop you for being her parents.
The fate is finally on your side.
***************************
By the time Gracie is officially yours, she turns three.
Itâs been a long road. A lot of meetings. Her first visits at your penthouse.
You still remember this stress.
How she tentatively stepped into the large living room. How she was missing her foster mom. How she was terrified of the heights when she looked out the window. She came running to you to hold her. Her cries broke your heart.
Thatâs how you and Harry discovered her first fear.
Heights.
Which was troubling, giving you live in a damn penthouse.
You tried to get her used to it slowly. Slow steps towards the window. Touching the glass for her to see that itâs safe up where you live. Pointing at the shimmering lights of the city. She liked those.
With every visit⊠Your penthouse started to feel more like her home.
You decorated her room.
Delicate yellow and pink walls. Cozy, low bed with a lot of pillows and plushies. Her sheets are all in little fawns with pink ribbons. Warm lighting that always gets her eyes sleepy in the evening.
And a whole lot of toys.
Every kind, every color. You just gone crazy when you went shopping with your husband. Both of you made it your goal to spoil your little girl.
Then the court and the legal finalization. It was just a paper, because you already felt like her parents. But when you heard that the adoption was approved⊠You never were happier in your lives. Harry laughed at loud in the court, but neither of you minded.
All you cared about is that Grace was finally yours. Yours to raise. Yours to hug. Yours to love.
Your daughter.
Gracie Castillo.
Now, you come back home from the court. First time as her official parents.
âI canât believe it.â Harry breathes, still completely at awe. âI need to see her right now, or I might fucking explode.â
You laugh, leaning against his side. The drive up the elevator seems so unfairly long. You watch the floors change on the little monitor, but it does nothing to ease your anticipation.
âMe too. I want to envelope her in my arms and never let go. Iâm not letting her go for the rest of the day.â
âBaby, I donât think you will ever let go.â He laughs.
âYeah, true.â You grin and press your lips to his.
The elevator does a little ding and the door slide open.
And you see her.
Gracie toddles, squealing happily when she sees you. Sheâs wearing a cute little outfit you picked for her today. Dress in dots and blue tights.
âHi, sweetheart! You missed us?!â You coo.
You kneel with your husband on the floor and she is wrapped in the middle. You attack her with kisses and she laughs. Harry pulls Gracie onto his lap, arms securely holding her to his chest. He presses his lips to the top of her head. Her happy sounds fill the apartment and itâs the best feeling in the world. You try hard not to cry, but when you see her, officially knowing sheâs yours⊠You canât hold back.
Your daughter.
âWe became your parents today, you know?â Harry tickles her side to make her laugh even harder.
âDaddy!â
God, you still canât used to her calling you that.
Mommy and daddy.
It came so easy to her during her frequent visits here. When you first heard it, you later hid in the bathroom to cry. Now? You feel pure joy and awe whenever she calls you mommy. And thereâs no longer any fear that someone would take her away from you. She is yours.
âWere you good for grandma?â You ask.
âYes. I ate bro-ccoli.â Gracie grins proudly. âYou did?â You gasp. âVery nice, baby. Iâm proud of you!â
âOur big girl eats her big-girl food.â Harry smiles.
âShe certainly does.â Lynette appears from around the corner. She canât stop admiring the view before her. You and your daughter. Harry being a dad. Her son finally has a family he always dreamt about. Itâs the way you walked in here all excited to hold your little girl. She never seen a more beautiful scene.
âMom.â Your husband hands you Grace and stands up to greet Lynette. A hug, a kiss on a cheek. âI hope she didnât cause trouble.â He smiles.
âNot at all. Your daughter is an angel.â Your in-law canât stop admiring her. Itâs a big moment for her, too. Her first granddaughter. âSo, everything went well in court, yes? Youâre her parents?
âYes, we are. Finally.â
The loving look Harry steals at Gracie is everything you need to see. Heâs absolutely in love with her. And with watching you as a mom. Seeing her snuggle close to you, or how you talk sweetly to her⊠He always knew youâll be a great mother. And now, no doubt in that. Even you feel more confident.
Because itâs just natural.
Caring for Grace.
âIâm so happy for you guys...â Lynetteâs eyes glisten with unshed tears. âLet me take a photo.â
Itâs a great idea, so you instantly stand up cradling Gracie in your arms. Harry joins you at your side, resting his hand on your daughterâs arm, enveloping both of you. Lynette grabs her phone and stands just right to get a good angle.
âSmile, kids.â
You do. You canât stop beaming. Gracie giggles when Harry tickles her side again. Such a dad thing to do, isnât it?
âThere. Oh, how cute you all look! You have to print it and hang it on the wall.â
âWe will. Absolutely, we will.â You say.
Later, in the evening, after saying goodbye to Lynette, you and Harry try to convince Gracie that itâs bedtime and she should get into her Paw Patrol pajamas.
âCome on, baby.â Harry holds the top of the pjâs set in front of her.
âNo!â
Little girl sits on her bed, arms crossed over her chest. That cute frown forms on her face. You quickly learnt with your husband that you got a stubborn one. But even her reluctance about sleep doesnât bother you. Not today, when sheâs officially yours.
âGracie, why donât you want to wear it?â You ask, sitting next to her. âBecause I donât! I want purple!â
Oh.
Paw Patrol pajamas are pink. And your daughter recently has a purple phase. You share a look with Harry.
âBaby, you donât have any purple pajamasâŠâ he tries, but it only deepens her frown.
âBut I want purple!â
You see sheâs getting emotional about this and itâs really hard to remember all the classes you took with Harry about children. You see her and all you want is her to be happy. How are you going to achieve that when you donât have purple pajamas?
Youâre certain she wonât go to sleep unless she has something purple. You donât get it, your adult mind is way too boring for that. But you do realize that for her it means the world. Thatâs just how children are.
âOkay, how about⊠We go tomorrow to buy purple pajamas? First thing in the morning, baby. But tonight you wear those and⊠hug Mr. Berry to sleep? He is purple.â You reach behind you to grab a teddy bear and hand it to her. Something purple.
God, you hope itâll work.
Gracie sniffles as she looks at the purple plushie. Lately, her favourite. Then she glances at her dad, who still holds the Paw Patrol set.
âOkay.â She mumbles.
âOkay?â Harry smiles.
âYes.â
You breathe relieved and your husband hands you the top.
âI promise, weâll buy you the prettiest purple pajamas.â You kiss Gracieâs head. âWe solved a problem.â
âSolved.â She repeats.
âYes, baby. We did.â Harry caresses her hair.
Fortunately, the rest of the night routine goes smoothly. Pajamas, brushing teeth and hair brushing. Harry really grew fond of the last activity. Every night he sits with Gracie and brushes her golden locks. Gently, not to tug. And itâs her favourite part of the routine as well.
Then, you tuck her in. Always both of you, because you donât want to miss a thing. Especially tonight. Her first night as an official Castillo. She holds her teddy bear close to her heart as you and Harry kiss her goodnight.
âWe love you, Gracie.â Harry whispers.
âI love⊠too.â She says, already sleepy.
âYouâre our favourite girl. Sweet dreams.â You press yet another kiss to her head and your husband follows.
You quietly leave her room as she dozes off. You canât believe how different your penthouse feels whenever sheâs up, or asleep. Together, holding hands, you head to the living room.
âShe left quite a mess today.â You sigh softly as you see the toys everywhere.
âMama said she was an angel.â
âShe always says that.â You chuckle. âFor her Gracie is flawless.â
âWell⊠sheâs not wrong.â Harry smirks and starts to pick up the toys. You join him, grabbing a basket where you always collect all of them. âYeah, sheâs not.â
It takes a while before the living room looks presentable. Kids books in a perfect stack under the tv. Basket in the corner full of Graceâs toys now. Her drawings left on the coffee table, so she could finish them tomorrow.
Pouring yourself some water in the kitchen, you look at the space full of proofs of her existence. Gracieâs here, asleep down the hallway. Your daughter.
You have a daughter.
It feels so surreal after all you went through. All this pain⊠It was all to meet her at the end.
You remember the times of your fertility treatment, how lonely you felt then. Even if you had Harry⊠Nothing could ease the shattering thought of never becoming a parent. For a moment then⊠you thought itâs over. That for the rest of your lives itâll be just the two of you.
How glad you are that itâs not true. That for the next years, youâll live, witnessing Gracie slowly becoming a woman, who, you are sure, will accomplish amazing things. And you with Harry will make sure she has everything she needs to achieve her dreams.
âI can hear you thinking.â Your husband murmurs as he appears behind you, his arms sneaking around your waist. You smile softly, felling him nuzzling his face against the crook of your neck. His presence instantly making you melt. âIâm just⊠taking it all in.â You say.
âWhat? The silence?â He smirks.
âMotherhood.â
At the word Harryâs expression softens as he turns you to face him. His warm hand comes up to your cheek. He sees the turmoil of emotions, a storm in your eyes. You are happy, he can tell. There is no tension creeping up your body.
Itâs just⊠the nostalgia.
Fulfillment.
And he gets it. Your life finally looks like it was always meant to. It feels strange to have a little human sleeping soundly few rooms away. He thought youâll never get to experience that. He made peace with it long time ago. So now⊠the new reality seems abstract. He still canât get used to the thought of being a dad. He feels like one. But it seems like a fever dream. Like in few seconds Gracie will disappear and heâll wake up.
âWe did it, baby.â He caresses your cheek. âWe are parents.â
âI still canât believe itâŠâ
âMe too. Itâll probably take some time for all of us to adjust, but it is real. As real as it can be.â
You press your forehead to his and he chuckles. Itâs the reality of everything that finally settles in your hearts⊠You made it.
âReady to go to bed?â He asks.
âYeah. Just⊠Can we check on her one more time?â
These hopeful eyes of yours are difficult to say no to. And, well, you donât even have to ask, because he was about to offer the same exact thing. âSure, darling.â
You peeked into Gracieâs room, trying to be quiet. She still sometimes has some problems falling asleep, so you donât want to disturb her peaceful slumber. But the moment you see her in the darkness, just a small pink lamp in the corner, making her face visible⊠Your heart melts. She is the cutest child in the world, no one could change your mind.
Once Harry and you are sure she is fine, you go to your bedroom. Just the next door from hers. But it still seems quite too far.
You get ready for bed. Your usual skincare, brushing your teeth. You steal Harryâs t-shirt to sleep in it. He just shakes his head with an affectionate smile, already used to that habit after years of marriage. The routine is peaceful. Youâre both calm with the thought of your daughter sleeping behind the wall.
Settling under the covers, Harry pulls you into his arms. You donât oppose, just make yourself comfortable with a tired sigh. This day was exhausting. The stress you felt earlier in the court is still humming beneath your skin. Harry seems to experience the same thing, because he holds you a little bit tighter than usual.
âGoodnight, love.â
âGoodnight.â You press a kiss to his shoulder.
Youâre lying with your eyes closed, trying to focus on his breathing and falling asleep. You can finally rest after all the effort it took to be Gracieâs parents.
Then why on Earth your heart canât seem to calm down?
Itâs like you⊠feel something is missing. And you know what this is. You felt it since you closed the bedroom door.
Separation.
And after a longer while passes, you hear Harry isnât asleep either. You lean back to look at him in the darkness and he seems to read your mind.
âIâm getting her.â He says, already getting up and you breathe relieved.
You hear him shuffle to the door and leaving to another room. You move to make some space in the middle of your bed. And soon⊠Harry is back with Gracie, still asleep in his arms. He carries her carefully just to lay her down between you on the mattress. A smile instantly grows on your face.
This is what youâve been missing.
It just feels right. Neither you, nor Harry, can survive this night without her. Itâs your first night as a legal family. You need your little girl right where she belongs. In your arms.
Harry settles next to her with a quiet grunt, pulling the covers over all three of you. Gracie shifts in her sleep, curling up against you. This nice, warm feeling splashes all over your body. The moment your daughter seeks your presence is the best thing to experience. Same knowledge she feels that safe with you⊠itâs mind-blowing. She is so adorable, so perfect. You gently stroke her hair in the darkness and Harry presses a delicate kiss to her arm.
âShe is so precious.â You whisper.
âShe is⊠God, I think I wonât go to sleep, just be watching her.â He grins. âSame.â
You both are just completely, achingly in love with your daughter. You admire everything she does. Even if itâs a hiccup, or some dance she invented. Grace Castillo is the most special girl on the entire planet.
âI love you, girls, so much.â Your husband whispers, reaching out to brush your hip.
âAnd we love you, too.â
At this moment, your life just reached perfection. You can focus on your daughter, on your family. That is the most important thing right now. Being together. Learning each other. Learning Gracie.
And you have the rest of your lives for that.
***************************
First day at work after adopting Gracie is very hard for Harry. Sitting at his desk, he keeps staring out the window, wondering what you and her are up to back home. He fights the urge to call you every five minutes. He knows you both are alright, but it is stronger than him. This need to be close to his girls.
âYou ready, man?â Peter enters the office with a smile. Harry breathes relieved that his brother is already here. âLetâs get it over with.â He smiles.
A lot has changed since their fight. Once the emotions settled, they talked once again. Harry took to his heart what you said to him. Brothers figured out the issue. Peter immediately understood Harryâs need to be close to the family. And he also appreciated the occasion to have a bigger part in motherâs company.
Now? They have the same amount of influence on decisions in the company. That means your husband has less work, more time to be with you and Gracie. Just like he wished to.
And Peter does great on his new position. Harry gave him some lessons and this time the younger brother took them seriously.
Together, they head to an important meeting with a CEO of a company they want to buy. Walking down the hall, sharp suits and this confident demeanor⊠They feel unstoppable.
âAfter you, little brother.â Harry opens the conference room door.
The meeting as always is boring and difficult. There are many different conditions the company must provide and itâs frustrating, listening to the other CEOâs raucous voice. Harry tries very hard to not let his mind wander back to you and your daughter. Pete is the more focused one on this case. And itâs good. It feels good not to control everything.
And right when Harry thought his eyelids might close from boredom⊠The door open and he sees Frances, his secretary. She looks at him apologetically for interrupting.
âYes, Frances?â He lifts his head. Since the damn car accident you had few years ago, he told her to come with any minor thing, even if heâs in the middle of a meeting.
âMr. Castillo, your wife is calling. Asking for you.â
He straightens up at that. âIâll pick up in my office. Pete, youâve got it here?â
âYeah, sure.â
With a nod, Harry leaves the conference room. The anxiety grows with every moment he doesnât hear your voice. Did something happen? Is Gracie okay? Are you?
When heâs in his office, he picks up his phone. âBaby? Everything alright?â
But he already hears loud cries in the background and his heart shatters. Heâd recognize them everywhere. Gracie.
âUgh⊠Iâm sorry, I know youâre in a meeting.â You say, sounding distressed. âBut Grace misses you so much. Iâve been trying to calm her for over an hour now and Iâm running out of ideas how to do itâŠâ
Harry sighs. Thatâs the thing. Gracie has some separation issues, you learnt that quickly after meeting her. Moving from house to house at the very young age makes her very attached to people. Even if she was too little to be aware then, her brain remembered the lack of stability. And now, it canât comprehend yet that Harry is only off to work and will be back in few hours. You try to teach her this, but sometimes it gets hard. Just like now.
âMy poor angelâŠâ He says, thinking how to help her.
âCan we switch to FaceTime? Maybe once she sees you sheâll stop crying.â
âGood idea.â Harry instantly finds the right button and soon he is able to see you. Your hair in a loose bun and youâre clearly wearing his sweater. He smiles. âHi, baby.â
âHeyâŠâ you smile, but itâs obvious youâre on the brink. Dealing with a crying kid can get anyone frustrated. âOkay, where is my princess?â He asks loud enough so maybe she would hear.
âSweetheart, daddy is here. Look.â You say and bring little Gracie onto your lap. You set the phone before her, so she could see her father smiling at her warmly.
âDaddy!â She sobs. His heart bleeds, seeing her cheeks puffy and red from all those tears.
âHi, babygirl. I see you miss me.â
âYesâŠâ
âIâm right here, sweetheart. Just at work. Iâll be back in some time.â He says softly. âI miss you, too, you know?â
âI want you here.â She mumbles and you squeeze her a little tighter, hoping itâll ground her. âOh, I know. But Gracie, Iâll be home before you realize. I promise.â
Her sniffles subside with his every word. Harryâs voice clearly works soothingly on her distress. She is just a little girl, missing her dad. Itâs new to her to even have a dad. The moment Harry appeared in her life, it changed everything. Now she has a loving home and itâs hard for her to understand.
âYou not leaving?â
âNo, sweetheart. Daddy didnât leave us. He is working. And after work he comes back here.â You try to explain once again, because she finally calmed down a little. âExactly, your mom is right.â He adds.
âAnd while waiting, we can do something fun. We can bake the cookies you likeâŠâ you offer after leaving a kiss on top of her head. She instinctively angles more towards you, seeking the comfort of your arms. There is no hesitation in her movements now. Just pure need for her mommy to hold her. And, oh, how much you love every second of it.
âYouâd like cookies?â
âYesâŠâ she says quietly.
âSo bake with mama and when youâre done Iâll be back.â Harry encourages her. Gracie glances at the phone. âI love you so much, Gracie.â
âI love you, daddy.â She sniffles.
âNo more tears, baby, okay? Because Iâm coming back and then we will cuddle.â
âI like cuddles.â
âWe know. And we will cuddle a lot after daddyâs home.â You hug her tighter and she shifts to wrap her little arms around your neck. You start rocking her gently, knowing it always soothes her. Harry now just watches silently, admiring how you manage to deal with Gracieâs tantrums. Heâs sure you would probably calm her without his help, but he is glad you called. Itâs a little insight in whatâs happening in your daughterâs life when heâs gone doing his job.
Looking over her shoulder, you catch Harryâs gaze. He nods, realizing itâs his time to go. âSee you soon, sweetheart.â He says and Gracie turns just enough to give him a little wave. âBye bye.â
After that call, your daughter managed to forget how much she misses Harry. You wiped her tears and kissed her sweet face so many times till it made her giggle. This is the goal. Hearing her laugh.
âSo, Gracie? Will you help mama?â You ask, holding her hand as you make your way to the kitchen. âI bet daddy will love some cookies after coming home.â
âYes! We must bake! With chocholate.â
You chuckle at her mispronunciation. She tends to shift some letters, but itâs normal for three-years-olds. All that you care about is that you finally see some joy on her face. Sheâs always excited to help you in the kitchen. You even got her a special stool that now has its standard place by the kitchen cabinet.
You help her, first put on her favourite apron (itâs in little unicorns), and then hop onto her stool. You love this small moments when itâs just you and her. Youâre still getting used to the fact Gracie is here permanently and youâll get to have a lot of those moments. You see it clearly in your head. First day at school. First sleepover. First crush. GraduationâŠ
Itâs all yours.
Yours to experience.
Yours to help her through every stage go her life.
âMommy?â Grace draws you out of your thoughts.
âYes, sweetheart?â
âWe bake!â She grins.
***************************
Jingle Bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock
Jingle bells swing and jingle bells ring
Snowinâ and blowinâ up bushels of fun
Now the jingle hop has begun
The music from the record player fills your penthouseâs living room, that now is richly decorated in Christmas theme. A big tree in the corner, shining with the amount of ornaments. Presents underneath. Candles and gingerbread scent in the air.
Itâs Gracieâs first Christmas Eve as your daughter.
So, you and Harry made it your mission to make it special.
You threw a party and invited only the most important people. Actually⊠Just Harryâs family. His mother, Peter and Charlotte. You cut off contact with your family and are happier ever since. Completely focused on raising your daughter, away from their bad influence.
âCassie wishes you Merry Christmas, sweetheart.â You say, braiding Graceâs hair in her room. She already messed her beautiful bun you tied up before. You can hear the guests and music flowing through the hallway. But now itâs just you and your little girl. âI wish Cassie was here.â She says looking at the mirror of her little vanity you got her for birthday.
âI know, baby, but Cassie has her own family to spend Christmas with. She said sheâll come by tomorrow.â
âYay!â
Your friend is another person Gracie grew very fond of. Sometimes when Harry and you want to get out on a date, Cassandra steps in to look after Gracie for few hours. Youâre really grateful for all the amazing people you have around you. They make the parenthood even more beautiful.
âYou want the red tie with a ribbon?â You ask when the braid is almost finished. âYes. It will suit the dress.â
âIt surely will.â You chuckle. Youâre raising a little fashionista.
You bite your lip as you tie the braid together, making sure this time she will not destroy it. âThere. How do you like it?â
Gracie observes herself in the mirror, turning her head to different sides. You canât help the smile on your face. You love how she is, how she sees the world.
âPerfect, mommy.â
âGreat, baby. Could you look at your reflection for a moment longer?â You ask and lower your head so it would be on the same level as hers in the mirror. Sneaking your arms around her little waist, you give her a hug from behind. You watch her smile. âYou are beautiful, baby. Could you repeat that for me?â You say.
âI am beautiful.â The cute flush grows on her cheeks.
âGood. Youâre kind.â
âIâm kind.â
âYou are important.â
âI am important.â She repeats quietly and your eyes glisten. This is your goal. Making her feel like that. You try to sneak in those affirmations every day. You want her to grow into a confident, aware of her worth person. You want her to know in every stage of her life that she deserves to be loved. You want to give her something you never got as a kid.
âIâm so proud of you, sweetheart.â You whisper, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
âAnd Iâm of you, mommy.â She turns to reach for a proper hug. You laugh almost tearfully, but you donât want to show it in front of her. But God⊠she has no idea how much her words mean to you. Sheâs too little to grasp the weight of it. She makes you so happy.
âYou are my favourite girl.â You press a kiss to the top of her head. âReady to join the party?â
âYes! I want dance!â
âIâm sure daddy will dance with you.â
Together, you head back to the living room where everyone is. Harry and Peter share a drink by the Christmas tree. Their mother and Charlotte chatter on a couch. They all smile when they see you, admiring Gracieâs new hairstyle.
âOh, look whoâs all pretty.â Your husband grins, setting the glass aside only to walk up and lift Gracie in his arms. She giggles, holding onto him. Always trusting heâll catch her. âItâs me! And mommy.â
âAnd mommy. Mommy isâŠâ Harry bites his lip when he eyes you up and down in your red, sweater-like dress. Youâre matching with Grace. You laugh, leaning against his side to press a sweet kiss to his cheek.
âHow about we open some presents? Just one tonight, though. The rest in the morning.â You say and everyone cheers, especially Gracie.
You and Harry bought her a tone of presents this year. Itâs her first Christmas with you after all. But you donât want to let it get into her head. One gift tonight.
Peter, as the proud uncle he is, sits on a couch and starts recording as Gracie opens as first from all of you. She settles on the carpet before the tree, waiting patiently until Harry hands her the present. It is a big box, actually bigger than her. The little girl beams, as well as the rest of you. Your husband sets it on a carpet before her with a quiet grunt.
âOh, Gracie, what could it be?â Lynette coos delighted. Your daughter can barely sit in place from excitement. But she knows she has to wait. âItâs big!â She lifts her arms.
âIt is. Do you need help with that? Santa Claus was very generous this year.â
You told her he stepped by before, when she was in a bath. You want her to believe into magical Christmas for as long as itâs possible. Kids deserve to see the world in colors, believe in something as joyful as Santa Claus.
âYes, please.â Gracie stands up and starts tearing the wrapping paper with eagerness. Harry rips it from the other side, helping her. You watch excited as a big smile spreads on her face. âWow!â She gasps, once she sees itâs a box of a doll house. A very big, French-cottage-styled doll house. It has three floors, a whole furniture package and even some sound effects. A star among the doll houses. The finest on the market.
âYou love it?â Charlotte asks.
âYes! Doll house! Itâs so pretty! WoahâŠâ your daughter is too mesmerized, now just circling the box around, admiring it from every side. Harry and you share a glance. Youâre sure she never saw anything similar. Youâre glad it brought her so much joy.
âLetâs get it out of this box, huh, sweetheart?â
âYes, yes, yes!â She jumps around until she falls into your husbandâs arms. They laugh and Harry canât help himself, he reaches his hand out and tugs you into a hug as well. You hear some awwâs from the family, but now? Now Gracieâs happiness is all that matters. Feeling her in your arms matters. Sharing this moment with her and Harry⊠Itâs all you ever dreamed of.
âI love you, mommy and daddy.â Grace whispers.
Later, once everyone is asleep in the guest rooms and Gracie dozed off in her own bed⊠You and Harry have a moment to yourselves. You find him in the hallway, where thereâs a wall of photos. Your photos from your entire marriage. Some bigger, some smaller. All including important memories of your shared life.
You stop at his side, a wine glass in your hand. Both of you letting your eyes wander around the photos.
Your wedding portrait.
Your first Thanksgiving together.
Holidays, parties⊠all of it.
A wall of memories.
And now⊠it slowly turns into family memories. With every day there are more and more pictures of Gracie here. Her reading a book. Her playing in a park. Your first photo as a legal family⊠You smile.
âWeâre slowly running out of space here.â Harry finally breaks the silence. A chuckle leaves your mouth. âYeah⊠We better find a new wall somewhere here.â
âWe could get rid of that painting you boughtâŠâ
That earns him a light elbow in the ribs.
âNo. We are not getting rid of my Kirchner.â
âOkay, okayâŠâ Harry smirks. âWas joking.â
You glance at your husband and he steals your glass with that stupid expression on his face. As he sips the wine, a weird sense of peace washes over you.
He is right here⊠Joking and laughing. Your daughter is asleep, safely in her room. And you? You donât feel this enormous weight on you anymore. Itâs the opposite. You feel light. No doubts, no worries. Just⊠free.
âWhat?â His smile softens when he notices your thoughtfulness.
âNothing, justâŠâ You hesitate, so to ground yourself you gently grasp his hand. âIâm really glad I didnât divorce you these few years ago. Now, I realize I wouldnât have all of it. A family like this⊠Iâm so happy and itâs all because of you.â
What youâre saying is true. This is how you feel. Harry is the one. He always was, no matter how hard you sometimes wished it wasnât real. When years back he was neglecting you⊠The lack of his attention felt like the end of the world.
But God, how glad you are both of you fighted for your love.
Because with him⊠Everything came easy. He was your rock when you most needed that and you know that no one else would be that for you. Not the way he is. You were always meant to end up together, despite all the problems on the way. You were always meant to adopt Gracie. It just feels right.
Suddenly all your life makes perfect sense.
And youâre happy you get to live it with Harry.
âBabyâŠâ he sets the wine glass on the floor, moved by your words. He straightens up and cups your cheek lovingly. âThe day I realized I fucked up then⊠I knew Iâm gonna be making it up to you for the rest of my life. Youâre it for me. It was either you, or no one. All I can say is⊠That Iâm so damn lucky you took me back. And Iâm so lucky you were that strong to offer adoption after all you went through⊠Iâll be forever thankful to you. For you. For this life. And for Gracie.â
Your eyes well up with tears. Harry always knows how to move your soul in the most beautiful way. He stirs those deep feelings you hide in your heart. He envelopes them in his warmth and honesty.
âI love you so much.â
âI love you, too, baby. Forever.â He whispers.
The kiss you share is one of those meaningful kisses. No, with Harry every kiss is meaningful. But this one⊠contains all this love and experiences from past few years⊠Itâs the kiss that will stay with you for long.
You wrap your arms around his neck and he wraps his around your waist, pulling you flush against him. So you could feel the familiar heat of his body. The familiar strength that will always hold you through every storm in your life. Youâre sure it will.
Life is a cruel competition. It tests you on many levels, gives you stuff you think you canât handle. But thereâs always someone who will help you carry the weight, help you through the mountains and hold you on the top.
You and Harry are this for each other.
And this time?
You both won.
There are no losers when the love between two people is as strong as yours.
After Hours: Part 7 | Javier Peña x Original Female Character [Written as Reader/âYouâ]
SUMMARY: You and Javier reach the end of the line. ~4.2k Word Count.
RATING: E. Modern!AU. 18+. Mature topics and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work.
TAGS: The reader is kind of an OC since she has a backstory/last name, no use of y/n, alternating pov, angst, drug/substance use, talks of addiction, overdose mention, suicidal thoughts, intense drug withdrawals, lots of guilt and anxiety, multiple time jumps, unhappy ending for him, happy ending for reader, if I forgot to tag anything else please let me know, more tags found on series masterlist.
DISCLAIMER: This story portrays sex work as valid labor and affirms the autonomy, skill, and agency of sex workers. At the same time, it does not ignore the very real dangers, exploitation, stigma, and systemic harm that many people in the industry face (often without protection or support). The glamor shown here is part of the fiction, not a denial of reality.
A/N: i canât fucking believe we are at the end of this. it has been an absolute blast working on this story! iâm so glad i finally had the time to write it out and do it justice, since itâs been an idea iâve had for about two years now. thank you to everyone who has read, commented, and supported this fic. it is always a pleasure getting to read everyoneâs thoughts on the story, characters, etc. the world-building of this story has been one of my faves, and you all know how much i love reader and how protective i am over her. i know for a fact that iâm going to write some one-shots with her and javi so we have that to look forward to! enjoy it, babes! đ€ reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated, thank you for reading! (series masterlist) / (read on ao3)
SIX MONTHS LATER
Leon Valentine goes down on a brisk fall day, and itâs not this grand, cinematic takedown like most believed it would be.Â
No, itâs actually really fucking pathetic.
They find him in the shittiest motel on the Nevada-California state line. Heâd been holed up there for weeks; money running dry, paranoia eating him alive.Â
Fleeing and hiding was bad for business. Leon knew about as much.
His reign over Vegas had ended.
Now the once intimidating man is reduced to nothing but a junkie with a needle in his arm. Cause of death: overdose.
Whether it was intentional or not, it doesnât matter.
The Ivory Saints Casino has been gutted, the once-opulent gambling floors now crawling with federal agents from different branches.
All greedy to get their claim of fame from the aftermath of the takedown headed by the DEA.
Ace is amongst one of the many businesses linked to the criminal powerhouse to get condemned.
Arrest warrants ripple through Sin Cityâpoliticians, socialites, dirty cops, all exposed and scattering like roaches when the lights come on.
Javier stands outside the room, cigarette dangling from his lips, watching as the paramedics wheel the body bag out on a creaky gurney.
The zipper is partially open. Leonâs face is pale and bloated, mouth slack, eyes half-lidded in a final, undignified stare.
A far cry from the slick, power hungry kingpin heâd been.
The smoke burns through Javiâs lungs in that familiar, punishing way. What should be a gratifying takedown isnât.
âWell, shit,â Steve says, stepping up beside him with his own cigarette already lit, aviators perched on his nose. âWe fucking did it.â
Javier doesnât reply right away. He just stares at the empty space where the ambulance had been, the desert road stretching out flat and endless under the pale sky.
âWe didnât do shit.â
Murphy laughs, but once he sees the grim expression on Javierâs face, he matches it. âWhat the hell does that even mean, Jav?â
âWe didnât do anything but make it easier for the next asshole to step in.â His nostrils flare. âThis doesnât just end with Leon or The Ivory Saints. Someone else will pick up the mantle and weâll be back where we started.â
Steve shakes his head, exhaling deeply. The smoke curls around his face like a ghost. âMan⊠youâre so messed up over her that you canât even enjoy this colossal fuckinâ win.â
Javier doesnât deny it.
Six months since you disappeared into witness protection. Six months since you screamed that you hated him, since your fists left bruises on his jaw and your nails carved bloody lines down his neck.Â
The marks faded, but the memory never did. He wakes up most nights yearning for you, only to find haunting comfort in cold sheets and the echo of you calling him a liar.
He hasnât tried to find you. Not once.
It wouldâve been easy, but he never caved.
Why? Because the last thing he wanted was to drag you back into danger just to soothe his own selfish need to know you were okay.
So he stayed in the dark. Smoked too much. Worked too late. Fucked no one, because no one else felt right.
âEnjoy it for me.â Javi says sarcastically, finishing off his cigarette then stubbing it out with his boot. âIâm heading back to the office.â
Steve watches him carefully. âYou gonna get started on her release paperwork?â
Javier finally meets his stare, annoyance flickering across his exhausted face. âWeâve got one hell of a case to prepare for. Thatâs what Iâm focusing on.â
The two have what feels like a silent standoff, once again communicating silently in the way that they always do when one or the other canât find the words to convey what heâs actually thinking or feeling.
Finally, Steve nods. âAlright. Iâll wrap up here.â
Javier turns toward his Escalade, the folder with your release paperwork burning a hole in his briefcase.
He climbs in, starts the engine, and sits there for a long moment, staring at the road ahead.
Six months of wondering if youâre okay. If youâre still using. If you truly hate him as much as you said you did that night.
He puts the vehicle in drive and pulls out onto the highway, heading back toward Vegas.
Your freedom is the only thing he has left to give you. Even if it means he never gets to see you again.
Cutting your addiction off cold turkey almost kills you.
The withdrawals hit like death wearing brass knuckles.
Your body revolts in ways you never imagined possible; constant nausea that leaves you dry-heaving over the toilet until your throat is raw, fever that makes your skin burn while violent chills shake you so hard your teeth chatter.
Migraines split your skull open like an axe. Your stomach twists and cramps, sending you sprinting to the bathroom every few hours.
Sleep is a cruel joke; you lie in bed for days, bone-tired but wide awake, mind racing through every mistake, every face, every fuck-up that led you here.
The protection detail assigned to you brought a stone-faced doctor to the isolated lake house theyâd stashed you in.
He did nothing more than just hook you up to an IV for hydration, saying that the best way to deal with the withdrawals was to just go through it.
If youâd had the strength, you wouldâve cussed that motherfucker out for being useless.
But you couldnât.
You were too weak and broken to do anything except be curled up on sweat-soaked sheets like a dying animal.
The house (beautiful in a cold, impersonal way) feels like a cage. You havenât left it once in the time youâve been here.
You donât even know exactly where you are.
The illusion of freedom is there: a generous amount of money and a new identity waiting to be stepped into.
But you know the second you tried to walk out that door, shit would pop off somehow.
Even if you left⊠where the fuck would you go?
Back to Vegas so Leon could finish what he started? To Miami, where you swore youâd start over clean, only to leave a trail of blood behind you?
On top of the physical and psychological toll the withdrawals bring; guilt lives inside your chest, rotting everything it touches.
Soleil and Nayeli flash behind your eyes constantly. Your brain turns cruel, painting their blood on your hands, whispering that youâre the reason theyâre gone.
Amala and Bailee too. All of them collateral damage because you helped the fucking government.
And then thereâs Javier Peña. The anger toward him festers the longer you lose yourself.
You let your guard down around him. That was your mistake.Â
All those nights tangled in his sheets, him listening to you like your words actually mattered, looking at you like you were worth protecting.
He told you he loved you, and you believed him.
He got what he wanted in the endâhis precious intel, easy access to your bodyâand you gave it to him on a silver fucking platter.
Then when it mattered the most, he lied to your face.
Suicidal thoughts tease the edges of your mind on the worst nights.
You curl into yourself, sobbing until your eyes swell shut, whispering apologies to ghosts who canât hear you.
But youâre too afraid of death. Too afraid of the unknown that comes after.
As hellish as this half-life is, youâd rather choke on it than face whatever waits on the other side.
One gray afternoon, one of the marshals knocks on the bedroom door.
âMiss Valentine.â
You donât move. Youâre staring out the window at the motionless lake, the surface so still it looks like glass.
She repeats your name. You donât even turn your head.
âWhat?â
âWe just got the call. Youâre being flown back to Las Vegas.â
You feel⊠nothing. A dull, empty void where emotion should be.
Leonâs either dead or in custody. It doesnât matter. He means nothing to you. You already mourned your real father years ago. This biological tie to a monster changes nothing.
âOkay.â
The marshal lingers in the doorway, tone turning impatient. âToday. We need you ready to move within the hour.â
âItâs not like I have anything to pack.â
You received only a few basic items when you arrivedânone of your personal belongings. You havenât been anywhere to get anything, either.Â
âThen Iâd suggest you shower and collect what little you do have so we can get on the road and make it there in time.â
You have enough energy to roll your eyes, though she canât see it. âOkay.â
She lingers for a moment longer before you hear her boots thud down the hallway as she leaves.
You lie there a moment longer, staring at the gray water outside, then force yourself up.
Youâve survived six months of isolation, grief, and the slow death of everything you used to be.
Whatever waits for you in Vegas, youâll face it. Even if right now, you donât feel like you can face anything at all.
Javier stands alone on the same stretch of tarmac where he last saw you, the desert wind whipping sand against his polished shoes.
His fingers twitch at his sides, restless, anxious in a way he hasnât been since the worst days in South America.
Heâs faced down cartels, deceit, and death, but nothing compares to how heâs feeling right now.
The jetâs door finally opens with a mechanical hiss. You emerge at the top of the stairs.
Youâre unrecognizable.
Gone is the glittering, untouchable force of nature who once owned every room she walked into.
Youâve lost weight, your skin is dull, eyes sunken and shadowed with exhaustion, hair brittle and pulled back in a messy ponytail.
You move like every step is sapping your energy, shoulders hunched against the wind, hands shoved deep into your pockets.
The moment your eyes land on him, they ignite. The anger thatâs been simmering for months flares across your face.
âYou have some fucking nerve.â
Javier doesnât move. He just stands there, swallowing thickly, letting you close the distance until youâre only a few away.
Seeing you like this pains him. He did this, and still, some selfish part of him wants to pull you into his arms and never let go.
âI know,â Javi hoarsely replies. âItâs fucked up for me to be here. But I had to see you.â
You scoff, crossing your arms tight over your chest like a shield, looking away so he canât keep dissecting you with that intense, analyzing gaze of his.
It once made you feel seen in the best way. Now it just makes you feel exposed.
âWhy? So you can see just how fucked up you got me?â
You spin slowly in place, arms spread wide, showing off the wreckage he helped create. âTake a good look, Peña. You did a damn good job.â
Javierâs jaw tightens, the muscle jumping visibly.
âI never wanted it to end like this,â he tells you, words heavy on his tongue.
âWhat the fuck else did you expect?â you ask, almost incredulously. âI told you from the beginning you were fucking with things you knew nothing about. But noâyou just had to sell your bullshit dreams to the girls who let their guard down. Look where that got us. Look where that got them.â
The silence that follows is suffocating. Javier doesnât defend himself. He knows thereâs nothing he can say that will make this better. His silence has always been answer enough.
âSo what is this?â you continue, voice cracking despite your best efforts. âThe part where you tell me you got Leon and have no use for me now? Ready to throw me aside again, Javier?â
âHeâs dead.â
Your expression twitches, but you keep your face as stoic as possible. âGood.â
He didnât expect you to react strongly to the news, either.Â
âYour familyâs dynasty is over. Ace is gone too.â
Six months of grief, betrayal, and unresolved feelings pours in the space between your bodies.
Your next question even catches you off guard momentarily. âAnd my mother? Her son?â
âTheyâre safe.â
You let out a humorless, bitter laugh. âAnd Iâm supposed to just believe you? You could be lying to me again like the bastard that you are.â
Javier doesnât flinch. âYouâre just going to have to take my word for it.â
âYour word means shit all to me now.â
âI know.â
Underneath the resentment you feel for him, the toxic pull that never quite went away is felt faintly, but you rope it in and smother it as best as you can.Â
All you can do is glare at him. If you had the energy, you would whoop his ass again, except this time you would impose maximum damage.
Javier looks like he wants to say more, but he doesnât.
âWhere are you taking me now?â you finally ask.
His jaw works, teeth grinding together in that familiar tic. He knows what he says next is going to weigh you down even more.
And still, he forces the words out:
âYouâre under arrest.â
Fresh anger surges through you, viciously burning away the numbness youâve been blanketed with for months.
âWhat the hell are you talking about?â you hiss, stepping closer despite every instinct screaming at you to stay away.
Javier doesnât back down, but his voice stays low, almost gentle in that way that makes you want to scream.
âI tried to make the charges disappearâmade the case of how you helped bring the The Ivory Saints down. But with your recordâŠâ He clears his throat, rubbing a hand down his jaw. âAll I could do was get it reduced. Two years in minimum security federal prison for prostitution.â
Your stomach drops. Blood drains from your face as reality sinks in of what your future is going to look like.
He goes on to explain how all your things, every scrap of independence you busted your ass for these last seven years, are going to be repossessed.
âYouâve got to be fucking kidding me,â you choke out, disbelief cracking your voice. Tears sting behind your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. Not in front of him. Heâs seen you weak too many times already.
âSo youâre here to bring me in?â You take a deep breath. âAfter everything, you really thought it was a good idea for you to do this?â
Javierâs eyes are dark with guilt and that only makes you angrier.
âI couldnât let it happen without facing you.â
You bite down on your lower lip, looking up at the sky and blinking away the tears.
âIâm sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. All I wanted was for you to walk away from everything with the vengeance you deserved to get for what Leon did to you.â
You shake your head, jaw moving from side to side as you try to keep your shit together. You donât have time for his bullshit apology.Â
âI love you.â Javier has the audacity to say.
His sad brown eyes search yours, exhausted and desperate. He sounds like he means it when he says it.
You canât bring yourself to believe him. Not anymore.
âYouâre pathetic,â you whisper with finality, the words tasting like ash on your tongue.
His eyes flutter and his gaze drops down to his shoes, swallowing down all the guilt thatâs lodged in his throat yet threatening to come up like bile.
You manage to move before the weakness can take root. You walk past him, legs heavy, and climb into the back of his SUV, slamming the door shut.
You donât look at him as he gets in the driverâs seat. You donât say another word.
Just like that, your biggest fear came true: losing everything again⊠except this time it wasnât in the blink of an eye, but instead at the hands of a man you thought you could trust.
Javier pulls in to the federal building and itâs a fucking media circus.
News vans line the street. Reporters and camera crews surge forward the moment his vehicle stops, microphones thrust out, voices overlapping in a chaotic roar.
Flashbulbs pop relentlessly, turning the scene into a blinding, disorienting nightmare.
The fallen heiress is back in Vegas and in handcuffs. Theyâre salivating for the story.
Youâve been in this shit show your whole life. The Valentine name dragged through tabloids since you were a child.
Itâs violating. Like vultures picking at a corpse thatâs still breathing.
Javier kills the engine, brows pulled in a deep frown. He hates every part of this. Especially the cuffs locked around your wrists in front of you.
Heâd argued against bringing you in restrained, but his pleas fell on deaf ears.
Bullshit procedure protocols. Javier knows itâs all about putting on a show.
Now the metal digs into your skin, a humiliating reminder of how far youâve fallen.
He steps out and rounds the vehicle to let you out, shielding you with his body as best he can. âBack off!â he barks at the nearest reporter, voice rough and authoritative. âGive her space.â
You emerge from the passenger side slowly, head down, hood of your oversized sweatshirt pulled low over your face.
The crowd presses in anyway, cameras clicking like hungry insects. Questions fly at you from all directionsâinvasive and accusatory.
âDid you betray your family for immunity?â Â
âAre the prostitution charges true?â Â
âDid you kill Leon yourself?â
You keep your face blank, eyes fixed on the ground, dissociating from the chaos the way you learned to do as a little girl. The noise fades into a dull roar in your ears.Â
Javier stays glued to your side, one hand hovering near your elbow without quite touching you. His jaw is clenched, eyes scanning the crowd like heâs ready to throw punches if anyone gets too close.
More officers spill out of the building to form a barrier, pushing the media back, but the frenzy doesnât die down.
Right as you reach the top of the staircase where two officers wait to take you inside, you stop.
You turn to Javier, stepping close enough that he can see all the pain heâs inflicted on you. Â
âI hope every person youâve ever fucked over haunts you until the day you die, Javier Peña.â
The words stab directly into his heart.
The mask heâs worn for months shatters completely. Guilt, self-loathing, and the love he still canât killâall of it lays bare across his exhausted face.
Heâs spent his entire career telling himself he was one of the good guys: the one willing to get dirty to do whatâs right.
But standing here, watching the woman he loves being led away in cuffs because of choices he made, he doesnât recognize himself anymore.
And for what? A bigger bust? A notch on his record? The âmost prolific achievement in his careerâ as the papers are already calling it?
You donât wait for a response, just turn away from him like heâs nothing.
The officers take your arms and lead you inside. The heavy metal doors swing shut behind you with a final, echoing clang that sounds like a coffin lid closing.
Javier stands frozen on the steps as the reporters surge forward again.
âAgent Peña! How does it feel to bring down the biggest crime family in Nevada history?â
âIs it true you had a personal relationship with the Valentine heiress?â
They want a heroâs story. Thatâs not what this is.
Now answers are given. Their questions feel like salt against an open wound.
He just destroyed the only woman who ever made him feel more like himself than any career achievement or fleeting lover ever didâand they want him to celebrate that.
His hands curl into fists at his sides as he finally turns to face the cameras, knowing he has to give a statement.
Javier Peña feels like the villain in his own story.
THREE MONTHS LATER
Javier stands on the edge of a rocky cliff just outside the city.
It sprawls out like a colorful, glittering wound in the nightâthe Strip moving like a river of light.Â
From up here, Las Vegas looks beautiful. Very reminiscent of his first night in, when the prospect of losing himself in it seemed exciting.
Steve stands beside him as the two men share the familiar quiet.Â
Smoke curls from their mouths and disappears into the cold night air, the low whistle of wind cutting across the rocks filling the void.
âSo what now?â Murphy finally asks. âOnto the next one?â
Javier continues to stare out at the city, the night of your birthday ghosting over his mind, tormenting him.
âIâm done.â
Steve glances at him, a little surprised. âDone?â
âIâve been done for a while,â Peña mutters, exhaling a thick plume of smoke. âI just kept telling myself this one would be different.â
He thinks of you as he always does; your dazzling smile, entrancing stare, sharp mind, and fiery attitude. How you did whatever the fuck you wanted because you had the entire world in the palm of your hand.Â
Javier ruined that. He took everything you had and gave you nothing but pain in return.
The shittiest gamble of all time.
âI canât keep doing this,â he adds quietly. âI canât keep ruining innocent peopleâs lives pretending itâs for a good cause.â
Steve doesnât say anything for a long beat, just smokes, letting the wind carry his friendâs words away. Then he nods slowly.
âDonât be a stranger,â is all he offers. âAnd donât kill yourself over this, Jav. You did what you had to.â
Javier clenches his jaw, eyes bleary. Frustrated tears threaten to spill but he blinks them back.
He doesnât deserve the release of crying.Â
They finish their cigarettes in silence, the glowing ends flickering like dying stars before theyâre crushed under their boots.
Steve pulls him in for a hug.
âSay bye to the girls for me,â Javier says with a strained tone as they pull away.
âI will.â Murphy claps him on the shoulder one last time. âLet me know when you land back in Texas.â
Javier nods. He watches as Steve climbs into his truck, headlights cutting through the dark before the vehicle disappears down the winding road.
Then itâs just him.
He stays on the cliff for the rest of the night, every single memory of you keeping him planted where he is until the sky slowly lightens into a bruised purple as dawn creeps over the desert.
He lights one last cigarette, the smoke burning his lungs like penance.
Javier is going to spend the rest of his life repenting for ruining yours.
TWO YEARS LATER
You stand outside the storage unit in the dusty outskirts of the city, the midday sun beating down on your back.
The key feels heavy in your palm. Itâd been taped to a plain white envelope you received this morning upon your discharge.
From Javier, of course.
At first, you werenât going to open it.
In the last two years, youâve seen him only once and it was during the trialâsitting in the back of the courtroom, eyes dark and unreadable, watching as you testified against what remained of the Valentine empire.
But curiosity⊠or maybe something weaker, more pathetic, won out.
You tore it open in the parking lot of the prison as you waited for the bus, heart hammering wildly against your ribs.
Inside: the key and a short note in his handwriting.
Hopefully this is enough to help rebuild your life.
Iâm sorry. For everything.
No signature. Just those words and the address to this storage facility.Â
You take a deep breath and bend down to unlock the heavy roll-up door. The metal rattles loudly as you push it upward.
âHoly shit.â
The unit is packed floor to ceiling with your things.
Clothes, shoes, purses, jewelry, art prints youâd collected, boxes of beauty products and decor.
Everything from your Vegas loft and your Miami apartment. All of it.
Your eyes well with tears as you step inside, taking it all in.
Thatâs when you spot the old wooden chest in the corner.
Itâs one youâve had since you were a little girl. Youâve never been able to part ways with it.
Rushing over to it, you drop to your knees, fingers trembling as you open the lid.
Inside, tucked neatly into old tampon boxes like a ridiculous, brilliant secret, is a small fortune in cash.
Your father, Lionel, had always taught you to be smart with your money.
Never put it all in one place, princess. You took his lesson to heart, especially when you became a dancer.
Stacks upon stacks of hundred-dollar bills, untouched and exactly as you left them.
Itâs more than enough to start over. For real this time. Anywhere you want.
You sit on the cool floor of the storage unit, surrounded by the ghosts of your old life, and cry into the money you thought youâd lost.
Materialistic as it may beâall of your belongings hold significance to them. The things you did to live that luxurious lifestyles taught you harsh life lessons that helped shape you into the woman that you are today.
Wiping away the tears and snot, you look down at his note again.
You havenât fully healed from Javier, but youâve healed enough to let go of the hate towards him.
Carrying it around only made you miserable and kept you chained to the past.
You were never going to move forward in your life if you didnât forgive him in your own way. Youâre certain that whatever life heâs been leading since your lock up is punishment enough for his sins.
Doing this for youâpreserving your things, giving you a real chance to start overâis the least he could have done.
And strangely, it feels like closure.
You close the chest gently, running your fingers over the worn, painted wood.
A small, tentative smile tugs at your lipsâthe first real one in years.
Youâre going to get back on your feet and live your life for yourself and no one else.
A/N: holy shit why am i crying rn đ once again i want to thank you for reading this story. i have loved being able to write javier like this where he's kind of irredeemable while still staying true to his character. he fucked up with her, yes, but i truly could never see them together for real as like an actual couple. theyâre too broken to be with each other. i really want to continue writing her and showing how she betters her life after the events of this⊠especially since i want her to be endgame with frankie đ are yâall fucking with that pls be honest!!!! anyways, always a pleasure to interact with all of you. your support means everything to meeee hehehe iâll see you divas in the next one đ€
Contains: hurt/comfort, revenge plot, grief, trauma, smut, oral sex (f receiving), face sitting, p in v, unprotected sex, cumming on stomach, riding, body worship, outdoor sex, praise, awkward dirty talk, there is so much cringey moments in this I'm sorry, aftercare, fluff
Wordcount: 10,554
Masterlist of this story
Masterlist
When Joel and Olivia returned to their sleeping place a few hours later, the rest of their day had led them to three results, some more significant than others: They had found a satisfactory collection of food items ranging from canned goods to crackers and crispbread to an impressive amount of coffee powder, they had found out that infected were able to live with an axe shoved in their heads, and Olivia had established a new nickname for him.
Her suggestion had been Jillie which he had dismissed faster than she could blink. You're not gonna call me Jillie, sounds like a drink, he had protested, which had earned him a long, extensive lecture why the nickname was so fitting.
First of all, it rhymes with silly. It also rhymes with chilli, which I think is nice too. And it has both your names in it, which makes it perfect.
Joel had shaken his head with disapproval, testing the name on his lips. It sounded ridiculous. It also kinda sounds like a fish. But she had simply grabbed him by his arm and given him an affirmative pat. You're gonna get used to it. Don't worry about it.
So after Olivia had tortured him for half an hour by calling him all the most horrible pet names pronounced in an undistinguishable but very bad Southern accent â darlin', and sweetheart â he had given in, though he had still been rolling his eyes every time she called him that.
All he could do was hope that she would forget about the ludicrous nickname before sunrise. Or else, he would have to seriously consider being called sweetheart instead. He didn't understand why she even needed a nickname for him. Truthfully, Joel had already gotten used to being called silly in circumstances that fit the name, so he was even more confused about why Olivia wanted to agree on a third name so badly.
But now they were back inside their not-so-cozy office while she chanted his new nickname like a songbird.
"Jesus," Joel grunted as he placed his bag on the floor, although he couldn't really conceal the grin forming on his lips. How could he after a relatively productive day? Sure, he hadn't accomplished his mission yet, but they had gathered some supplies and hadn't gotten killed by the redhaired lady. That was something.
"I can't believe you wanted me to leave the fucking gummy bears behind," Olivia clicked her tongue while rifling through her rucksack.
"For fuck's sake, not that again. Whatever this was on the package, it looked disgusting."
"They are sterile. It doesn't matter what sticks on the package."
Throwing her a glance, he rubbed his knuckles over his tired eyes. It had gotten late and his sore limbs were begging to be stretched out.
"Well, you could've taken them. But if I recall it correctly, you found the dirt too nasty to put the package in your bag."
"Yeah, whatever⊠My bag is much nicer than yours. I didn't wanna ruin it." Olivia carelessly dropped her jacket to the ground before yawning. "Why am I so tired?"
"We walked a lot today. S'no surprise. Let's go to bed soon, so we have enough energy tomorrow."
Twenty minutes later, Joel and Olivia were snuggled up in their sleeping bags that felt especially comfortable in a state of intense tiredness. Their faces were inches away from each other, just some thin, warm air separating their warm skin.
"You're sure about all of this?" Olivia asked into the silence and did not blink while Joel's lips curved.
"Yeah. Are you?"
"Of course. As long as you are."
"Then everything's set, right?"
She nodded slowly, although it looked like there was something else bothering her. "It just â feels so strange. And I'm a little scared."
"So am I."
"What are you scared of?" Olivia wanted to know.
"That it will go wrong. That the plan won't work. That we â that something will happen to you."
"Nothing will happen to me," she smiled tenderly, caressing his hairy chin with her thumb.
"I know. Nothin' will happen to you."
"Yeah. Then what are you scared of?" she whispered, humming gently as he kissed her briefly.
"Weren't you the one tellin' me that you're scared too? I'd like to ask the question back."
"No. Because only one of us is allowed to be scared."
He raised his eyebrows at that, furrowing his brow. "Yeah?"
"Mhm," Olivia nodded. "That's the rule. I didn't make it."
Joel softly, still with great determination, pushed his head forward so that their foreheads were touching. He liked to lay next to her like that. He was able to steal an occasional kiss but also got to feel her proximity, her warmth through the skin of his brow.
"So you get to be the one who's allowed to be scared?" Joel mumbled lowly, sleep slowly overcoming him as it did Olivia, so it seemed.
"You're right. That's not fair," she babbled.
Joel's eyes were closed, so he didn't see whether hers were shut as well, but he definitely assumed they were, based on her tone. Both of them were on the verge of drifting off to sleep, which made them say strange things to each other. Things that naturally and without much force slipped past their lips.
"Maybe we both get to be a 'lil scared. We can⊠you know, divide it."
"Yeah. I think that might work."
Lips curled and his ears burning with heat, Joel whispered another quiet "Yeah" which was the last word spoken for tonight.
At some point during the night, one of them shifted in their sleep, but in the process of falling asleep, not even a paper sheet could have been shoved between their touching foreheads.
The next day, Joel woke up with a boner.
No wonder with Olivia's butt pressed up against his crotch. She must have shifted in her sleep and unconsciously ground her backside against him. Or consciously, how could he possibly know with her?
Joel grunted quietly, not wanting to wake her up and allow things to escalate because while in this headspace, a single seductive lip bite from her might send him spiraling. And he couldn't let that happen. It was tempting to give in to his desires and perhaps initiate physical contact once Olivia was awake, but then again, all he needed was one more day and the biggest and most important promise he had ever given himself was fulfilled. Only if everything went well, of course.
One more day.
Logically, there was nothing speaking against having a little fun in the morning, yet Joel knew that he wouldn't be able to fully relax and experience the moment as well as he would be in a few days. And most importantly, he might not be capable of giving Olivia what she deserved: undivided love and attention, care and a lot of time.
Therefore he turned on his other side, his back facing her as he closed his eyes again for a few more minutes of sleep. But after barely more than five minutes, Olivia stirred as well and bumped her elbow against his side so forcefully, he groaned lowly.
"Fuck⊠sorry," she quickly apologized and nestled her face against his arm.
"S'alright. M'already awake."
"Good."
Neither of them said anything for a while as each went after their own thoughts in their state of drowsiness. That was until Olivia shifted closer to him, her warm lips an inch away from the skin of his nape that was covered in goosebumps.
"Joel?"
"Mhm?"
Letting out a heavy breath, she wrapped her arm around his torso and rested her palm on his chest. "I hope everything's gonna be fine."
"Everything's gonna be fine."
"And what if not?"
Without knowing what exactly she was alluding to, Joel squeezed her hand, brushing over her knuckles with his thumb in a soothing manner.
"It is."
He did not explain himself further, didn't need to, since Olivia was pulling at his shoulder with light force to signal him to face her.
"I need everything to be fine," she pressed between tight lips, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of fog that indicated weariness and longing as she sat up.
"So do I. And it will be fine. You know why?" His arm stretched forward, cupping her face and feeling a brown strand that had loosened from her ponytail tickle his skin.
"Why?"
"'Cause I don't know what I'd do if not."
"You and me both," Olivia chuckled dryly and pressed herself firmer against his adoring palm.
That morning, the two of them had an extensive breakfast that would surely give them enough energy for the day. They remained in the office for hours, staring holes into the ceiling and having short conversations to pass the time since Joel had determined the time to attack based on the guards' schedules.
Finally, at noon, they packed their belongings into their backpacks with the intention not to come back here after their mission. As Joel fastened the buckle, he realized how little they had since it had been his idea to leave the tent behind. Once they would make it out of the city through the tunnel, they could try to find it, but if someone had already taken it, the chances were high that they would spend the coming nights under the starry sky. Which could be romantic from certain angles.
"Joel?" Olivia pulled him from his thoughts and put the bag on her back.
"Yeah?"
"Can we go through the plan again?"
"Of course," Joel said with a heavy lump in his throat, doubting whether he had been there enough for her today. All he ever wanted was to give her what she required, and for god's sake, he couldn't even do that. He had dragged her here with him, yet he wasn't even able to open his mouth when she might need to hear his voice.
"Well," he cleared his throat and drummed his fingers on his jeans. "We hide behind the corner where we were last time. At 4 p.m. the guards are gonna change, which is gonna be the trickiest part. If we manage that, the rest will be unproblematic." Although that was more than an understatement, he made no attempt to correct his words and just chewed on his bottom lip. "We sneak through the window from the alleyway. Then, we make our way up. His office is probably gonna be all the way up the building, so we try to make it there unseen. If we see someone, we handle it quietly and quickly. But the woman yesterday said that FEDRA's got a lot to do right now, so I don't think the place is gonna be packed. They have so many guards outside, why would they post a guard at every fuckin' staircase inside. So we walk up there, we find 'is office and we do it quickly."
There were countless things he was leaving out â how they were going to find his office, how they were going to make it there through the corridor without anyone seeing them, how they were going to leave â but Joel knew that he had no satisfactory answer for her whatsoever. And it seemed as though Olivia had that knowledge too, because she didn't express all those doubts clearly prickling on her tongue.
On one hand, he felt relieved by that, but on the other it gave him an overwhelmingly oppressive feeling.
The idea of her stopping asking questions because she had lost all hope was horrible. The thought of her expecting not to make it out of the building alive was unbearable. So unbearable that Joel couldn't stop himself from embracing her in a tight hug a few moments later, cradling her head against the crook of his neck as though he had meant to do so all along.
"I'm sorry," Joel breathed, listening to her bag drop to the floor, so her hands were free to return the hug.
"Why?"
"'Cause you don't deserve any of that⊠I just wanted â I didn't mean to â " He ended it there before his voice might break, instead settling for savoring the scent of her hair that strangely still smelled good.
"I chose this, Joel. I insisted on coming with you."
"But it's wrong. I'm selfish and I â I've been meanin' to try and act better and I â thought I was doin' okay. But I'm not. I'm not actin' the way I know I should."
"Look at me," Olivia hissed and withdrew with the purpose of planting both her hands on either side of his head. He missed her proximity but allowed her to proceed.
"Do you think I'm acting the way I know I should?" she whispered, her tone so gentle and warm, he couldn't believe that they were about to go outside and risk their damn lives just so that Joel could do something he believed would finally give him closure.
"What do you mean?"
"Oh darlingâŠ" Olivia laughed quietly, softly rubbing her thumb over his pulse point. "You think it's strange that you and I act exactly like every person who likes someone has ever acted in the history of the world? You think I don't wake up every morning thinking what the hell I'm doing? And that doesn't mean I don't stand behind what I'm doing. I do. The point is that there is nothing wrong with you for wanting something even though you know it's wrong. I know I should probably be somewhere at the east coast looking for my sister⊠Or maybe try to get to a QZ where I can work as a doctor for FEDRA. What I definitely shouldn't be doing is kill someone from FEDRA. And I'm still doing it because I want to."
She bit on her lip, seemingly more relaxed at the abating tension in Joel's features.
"My god, we really weren't lucky with the time we were born in. And we both went through some bad shit, Joel. And maybe we also did things we're not proud of. But this⊠this is not one of those things. I swear it. This is something we can allow ourselves. Doing something that we know isn't the most efficient, the smartest, most intelligent thing we could do."
His breath hitched, his eyes lowered before they slowly wandered up her body, setting on her pupils.
"And what â what if we didn't?"
"What do you mean?" she murmured, the skin of her hands creating warm tingles on his face and nervous bubbling in his stomach.
"What if we didn't do it. Sneakin' in⊠killin' that manâŠ"
She snorted through her nose, shaking her head as though she couldn't believe his words. Then, she tilted his head a little, enough to press a kiss on the corner of his mouth.
"After everything? After all of this, you just wanna go back? Even though we're this close."
"I don't knowâŠ" Joel groaned and meant it.
"Joel. You promised yourself. Remember? I don't wanna be the one to push you to do something you don't want, but I also don't wanna hold you back from doing something you want."
"But I also promised to keep you safe."
Her tender smile broadened, little golden spots dancing around her pupils. Or maybe it was just his distorted sight, irritated by the blazing emotions seething beneath his skin.
"You haven't mentioned that promise beforeâŠ" Olivia mumbled.
"What if I went alone?" he suggested and yanked her another inch closer to him.
"No. Absolutely not."
"But I don't know if I can do it otherwise. With you."
Joel gently, yet decisively freed himself from her grasp, taking a few aimless steps around her while he mussed up his hair. All she did was observe him with a few concerned wrinkles on her forehead while her intertwined fingers were placed on her stomach. After what felt like an eternity, Joel raised his gaze to her once more. Not much had been going on inside his head for the past minute. Just some chaotic swirling thoughts that were continuing to make his brain ache.
"No," Joel panted and held his hand to his chest, or rather below his chest. That was exactly the spot where he always felt that sting. Although he hadn't quite figured out the source, the reason for the pain, he had a hunch it was about to set in.
"What?" Olivia said just as quietly, sheer worry etched in the lines around her eyes. The sight pained him.
"I don't wanna do it."
She was on him within a fraction of a second, grabbing him by the shoulders like she was about to shake some sense into him.
"Joel, please don't make a rushed choice now⊠Just think about it. Think about the future, what if you're gonna regret it for the rest of your life? What if you're gonna wake up tomorrow and regret that we left? What if this is gonna torture you every single day from now on?"
His body vibrated softly with laughter while he leaned in to tuck a strand of her brown locks behind her ear.
"You don't understand⊠You're talkin' 'bout the future, right? That's exactly the point."
"What do you mean?" she wondered, clearly confused by his sudden peaceful mood that was fully replacing his previously upset temper.
"I never thought I had one. That's the whole point. All those weeks 'n' years when I fantasized about killin' that guy, I didn't think further than this moment. I imagined myself standin' above him with a gun in my hand and his blood on my hands. And that was it. After that, nothin'. Just some black void. But that's the exact reason why I wanted it that bad. 'Cause I had nothin' else. It's ridiculous 'cause it's so simple."
"I still don't understandâŠ" she murmured.
"I had a dream a few nights back. You were there. And me. And we were livin' in this beautiful house and â and we had sheep."
"Sheep?" Olivia repeated with raised brows.
"Yeah. Sheep. I can't remember everythin' but I â I remember how I was feelin' while I was⊠while I was there. It was good. I felt good. 'N' now I'm realizin' that I've never had a dream like that. I mean you could look at it from two different sides because it could also be like an imagination about what life could've been like but I feel like it's more of how I wish my future was. And I've â never thought about my future like that before. So there it is. It's not like it was before."
She moved her hands to his chest, feeling the rough fabric of his jacket. It was still obvious though how she wasn't quite able to fully grasp what he was trying to tell her. So he attempted it again.
"Since⊠I don't even know since when but I â I can look beyond that mission. This is what changed. The dream was just another example, but even without it I â I should've noticed it earlier. Now, when I think of the moment when I stand there with â with the gun, the first thing I'm thinking of is the following day. And the day after. With you. It's not the end anymore. It's not the one thing that keeps me goin'. We talked about this, right? About things that give you meaning and a purpose. And I just â I think maybe it has changed for me. 'Cause you came into my life, and now I think that â that I found something bigger an' more important that makes me wanna keep goin' and makes me wanna be good. And I think it's so important that I â that it makes everything else feel less important."
Only now that Joel stopped to take a deep breath, he noticed the tears streaming down her face.
Her beautiful, breathtaking face.
God. He would never get enough of that sight. No matter if it was her sleepy face right after she had woken up, her joyous features when she had the chance to tease him over something or even her slightly melancholic look. She was beautiful to him regardless.
"You don't have to cryâŠ" Joel breathed and stroked over the back of her head. It was getting late, the clock was moving closer to 4pm, but Joel couldn't have cared less. In fact, he had never been more certain about something than this: Letting time pass to instead stand right here in the hallway of this office building with Olivia.
"I know. I know, I just â I don't â " Her voice broke at the end, her wide eyes almost pleading him to do or say something specific.
"JoelâŠ." she whined and buried her face in his chest with no regard to her tears soaking his jacket.
"I'm so fuckin' sorry. About everything. I'm sorry, I â it's a mess, I know."
She drew back abruptly but maintained her closeness to him by pinching the fabric of his jacket between her thumb and index finger.
"No⊠It's not. I just â I'm scared that you're gonna hate me."
"Why would I hate you?" it burst out of Joel, desperately holding onto her face as if he wanted to prevent her from dissolving into the air.
"Just â Just think of what it could be like in a year. Or two. You suddenly think that you made the wrong choice and â and that you should've killed him when you had the chance. And you think that the reason that you didn't do it was⊠me?"
"I won't think that way," Joel argued and glared straight into her pupils with the intention to uphold eye contact for as long as she needed it. For as long as she granted him.
"You can't know thatâŠ" her answer came soon, her tone almost pleading. "I just â I just want you to be happy, Joel. And I⊠don't wanna be the person that made you change the course of your life."
"But I like that you changed the course of my life. It's the best thing that happened to me in the past four years." He kissed her forehead, closing his eyes while moving his lips to her skin, so he couldn't possibly see the doubt still hanging over her expression. "If you want me to be happy, then just be with me. S'all I want."
She put her hands on his wrists, letting out something that resembled a broken cry. "I just⊠Joel, I â I don't know â "
"It's okay," he purred and repeatedly pressed his lips against her hair. "It's fine. Everything's fine. Actually, everything couldn't be more perfect."
Olivia slowly tilted her head, meeting his gaze with a deep crease between her eyebrows. Then, she laughed dryly and pawed his knuckles with her fingertips. "Oh yeah? I think things could be a little better. A tent would be nice. Or being outside of the shithole that this city isâŠ"
"I'm so sorry. About all this," Joel breathed and draped his arms around her once more, keeping her the closest that the law of nature would allow.
"I brought you 'ere, made you sleep on the fuckin' floor in an office and all of that for no reason."
"I told you. I just want you to be happy. And if it's what makes you happy, I'm on board."
Joel's fingers threaded through her hair that notably needed a wash after three days in the city, but what did it matter? He was able to hold her, savor her presence without any future risks threatening her life. He felt free. Like a weight had dropped off his heart. Or like a bird that had been freed from its cage.
The emotion was so pleasant that he began to wonder why torture himself with the idea of Olivia being harmed in the process of breaking into the FEDRA headquarters if he could just stop it? This wasn't some natural disaster that he couldn't stop from cascading down on them, no, he was in charge. And the best part was that he didn't need it. He didn't need to cling to the compulsory wish to kill this man who had destroyed his life four years ago. Obviously, Joel still wanted him dead, but there was no way he would let this asshole take everything he had from him again.
Back then, he hadn't been in charge. And despite the months and weeks of tormenting himself by thinking that he could have changed the outcome of it all by being more attentive or braver, he knew by now that his daughter's death had been outside of his area of influence. But today, it was different. He held the reins. He was the one who was going to decide that what he had with Olivia was more important than anything else.
It was so important that he wouldn't trade it for a promise he had made to himself four years ago that wouldn't have a real effect on his life except for momentary satisfaction that wouldn't occur either way in case something happened to her.
No. This man had already taken enough from him. He didn't need this man's life. It would be a nice convenience to have him die on someone else's hands perhaps, but Joel had everything he needed right there in front of him.
And it was invaluable.
"You know what?" Olivia asked into the silence, the both of them staring up at the night sky.
"What?"
"I like it better than the tent."
An amused smile played around his lips, but he kept that to himself. "You're lyin'."
"No, why? I really like it."
"You're sayin' it, so that I don't feel bad. But it's okay, you can be honest."
Olivia sighed heavily, then shifted onto her side. "I like it better. I swear it. The air is better⊠I get to see the stars before I fall asleepâŠ"
Joel wanted to say something about only wanting to see her before he fell asleep himself, but he bit on his tongue in the last moment.
"But it's gonna be cold."
"That's okay. I got my sleeping bag. My sweaters. YouâŠ" She nudged her nose against his cheek, which made a chuckle gush from his throat.
"Yeah⊠Right⊠Still. I admit that it wasn't my best idea to just leave the tent behind."
"Maybe not⊠But you gotta make the best out of it, right?" Olivia kissed his cheek, and while Joel already expected it to be merely a brief, affectionate gesture, her lips began travelling to his mouth to intensify the encounter. At first he thrust his face forward, returning the kiss until he cupped her chin when Olivia let out a moan.
"Here?" he smirked, the corner of his mouth drawn in mischievous curls.
"What do you mean?" she innocently cooed and snaked her left leg around his hips.
"We're in the middle of fuckin' nowhere," Joel muttered, although his actions were a great contrast to the concerns he voiced, hands planted on her shoulder blades as he yanked her forward with so much force, her chest crashed into his.
"Are we?"
"Mhmm⊠yeah."
She nimbly freed her left foot from the sleeping bag and started kicking the fabric away, which Joel definitely didn't approve of considering the air was so cold, but at the same time, he was unable to pull her away from him and tuck her back in.
"You're gonna freezeâŠ" he just whispered but helped her step out of the bag so that she could place a knee on either side of his body.
"I'm not gonna freeze. You just gotta help me get warm," she grinned crookedly, baring her teeth as he rolled his eyes.
"Jesus..." Nonetheless, he brought one of his hands down to her hips, palming her flesh through her thin sleeping shirt while his other tightened in her hair.
"Joel," Olivia panted while fighting with the hem of his sleeping bag that she just couldn't shove down his body with his weight pinning it into place. Therefore, he helped her by raising his hips, crawling out of the warming material only to be confronted with the sharp, cutting wind that brushed against the bare skin at his ankles.
"FuckâŠ" he hissed through gritted teeth and quickly focused on the heated war between their tongues and teeth as it brought his mind elsewhere. He was lying on his back with his sleeping bag at least preventing his clothes from getting dirty, but beside that fact, Joel still found that it wasn't the ideal setting. He shouldn't have abandoned that goddamn tent. Goddamnit. But clearly, he still wouldn't push Olivia away from him under any circumstances, even if it meant he had to twist his numb limbs a little in order to find an appropriate position. Besides, his body actually was starting to warm up slightly as her warm palms were stroking up and down his face.
"Fuck," she cursed into his mouth, rocking her face against his as though she were immune to the stiff stubble that was certainly grazing her skin in an unpleasant way.
"Touch me, Joel. Please."
He immediately reacted, pushing up her shirt and thanking god that they were already in their sleeping clothes and he wouldn't have to fight his way through layers of underwear. No, he was met with bare skin. Bare skin that felt soft as silk or a cat's fur against his calloused palms.
He slid his hands around the curve of her waist, drinking in the way she was rocking her core against his crotch while the only thing he was able to think about was how badly he wanted all of her. How badly he wanted this moment to never end and how much he wished he could freeze this scene to come back to it at any time in the future. She felt so incredible beneath his palms, so supple and warm, even though she must be freezing as well.
Soon, his hands glided to her front where he cupped each of her breasts in his big palms, kneading her flesh but without applying any brutal, rushed force. No, he did it lovingly. In a way that reminded him of worshipping a higher creature.
Meanwhile, Olivia had yanked his shirt up as well and caressed his hairy chest with her flat palms. Occasionally, she dropped them all the way down to the waistline of his pants where she teasingly trailed her index along his happy trail, leaving a simmering path behind where her skin came in contact with him.
"You're so fuckin' pretty. Everythin' about youâŠ" Joel groaned against her mouth, or maybe it was her cheek. It was too dark and their movements and gestures were too passionate and uncontrolled to figure it out exactly.
"I really need you, Joel," she murmured and rolled her hips into his once more, eliciting a sharp grunt from him. His cock was hard and pressed up against the restraints of his pants that were made of a soft, flexible fabric but hurt his tip nevertheless.
"I need ya too⊠Please, you â sit on my face."
Olivia's movements stalled a little as she watched him intensely, a quiet gasp leaving her throat.
"Really? I â I've never done that before. I don't know how â " She stopped there, lost in the depths of his dark eyes.
"It's easy. You don't gotta do anything. Just climb onto my face and hold onto my hair. S'all. I'm gonna take care of the rest."
After her nod and a brief swirl of her tongue over her bottom lip, Olivia straightened up on top of him and began her short journey up his body. Joel assisted her by guiding her by her hips but then stopped her to undress the lower part of her. Letting the fabric dangle around her ankles, Joel reassuringly stroked up her outer thigh and gently led her forward, giving her the opportunity to back out if she wanted to. But no, Olivia took up just the position Joel had described to her and set her knees on either side of his head.
"Like this?" she then asked with her breathy tone, shifting her weight from one knee to the other to test how she liked hovering over his face.
"Yeah. Just like this. Now you just gotta lower yourself. And don't you be scared of suffocating me. I want all of ya. I don't want ya to support your weight on your knees. Just sit on my face."
Her hands found his locks, twisting a strand around her finger while she carefully bent her knees.
"Are you sure? It's not gonna be too much for you?"
"Hell yeah, m'sure. If it's too much, I'm gonna tell ya. But it won't be too much," he huffed and then sucked a breath through his nose in delight as Olivia complied with his wish and lowered herself.
As soon as she was in reach, Joel stuck his tongue out and greedily licked a strip through her folds. This time, he had no patience to draw the moment out, even if he had wanted to. He could have teased her, hearing her sweet whines while his tongue hovered inches away from where she needed him most, but he didn't feel like it tonight. Her pussy positioned so close to him unleashed something within him, and Joel found he had absolutely no choice but to give in to that hunger and devour her like an animal.
His hands were settled on her thighs both for stability and to push her down whenever she hesitated or flinched away from his intense touch. Meanwhile, Joel's tongue was pressed up against her slit to taste and relish her divine juices.
"You taste â fuckin' amazin'âŠ" Joel growled lowly, the noises he was releasing borderline obscene. He just hoped that the only company they had out here were a few wolves and owls.
"JoelâŠ" she whined in response, grinding against his tongue, which made his heart flutter and his cock throb.
"What is it, honey, mhm?"
"Please⊠Oh fuck."
He simply couldn't help it, especially not while Olivia produced those sweet noises that all went straight to his core.
"You need me right 'ere?" At his words, he connected the tip of his tongue with her clit and softly tapped against the little nub as though to test her sensitivity.
"Y-Yes â Yes. FuckâŠ"
"Here?" He circled her bundle of nerves once, his lips involuntarily twisting with amusement at the way her breath caught in her throat. She was too lovely to be real.
"There. Yeah," Olivia yelped but then relaxed her muscles a little as Joel's motions steadied and the play of his tongue developed a pattern: A few swirls around her clit, one or two taps and then a generous lick across her folds. That way, he both got into the enjoyment of having her wetness prickle on his flat tongue and he could stimulate her most sensitive spot at the same time.
"So goodâŠ" Joel grunted as he felt her juices douse his mouth. God, he would give everything to just drown in her pussy, let her arousal soak his entire face. He had never experienced this kind of addiction, but whenever Olivia rolled her hips down, effectively creating more friction against her clit, Joel's heart stumbled and his head coiled with heat.
Her orgasm reached her unexpectedly and without any warning. One second, she was still moaning his name, praising him like he was the most talented person she had ever encountered, and the next, her body hunched over and she nearly ripped his hair out by the roots.
"Ohh godâŠ" was all she was capable of pressing out, and then she even almost collapsed on top of him, if Joel hadn't kept such a secure grasp on her. She spasmed boundlessly, grinding hard against his tongue that he had kept stuck out, and then reached for his shoulders with her shaking hands.
"Joel⊠FuckâŠ"
Flinching briefly as his lips enclosed around her overstimulated bundle of nerves, Olivia gasped and shifted her body, so that she could take a glance at his face. Her mouth was agape, her brow sweaty, her pupils blown, but she looked the happiest and most content Joel could picture her.
"You're goddamn perfectâŠ" Joel growled and wiped over his mouth with the back of his hand. Part of him wanted to push her right back to have her hover above him, but then the idea of burying himself inside her hit him and his cock, already hard in his pants, twitched.
"So are you⊠That was⊠so good, Joel," she panted and crawled down his body until she was straddling his lap again.
"You want more?" he whispered and glided his hand up her side adoringly.
"I wanna feel you inside." She pressed her core down on his erect length hard, just giving his manhood a firm squeeze that made his eyes roll to the back of his head. Goddamnit. She knew what she was doing and she was doing it well.
"How?" he breathed, placing both hands on her hips.
"Like this."
Joel sucked a sharp breath through his teeth at the way she was dragging her bare pussy down on his cock, her warm slit slithering along his clothed length.
"You wanna be on top?" he pressed, lashes fluttering while Olivia tugged down his pants in order to free his dick.
"Yeah. If it won't be too exhausting."
"We can switch if you don't want to anymore," Joel reassured her and then watched with wide eyes and an enthralling bubbling in his belly how she pumped his cock a few times as though it actually needed it. The fact that she was maintaining eye contact while smearing his precum across his tip only intensified everything, the air around him that he was drawing into his mouth in small breaths charged and ardent, almost blazing from the heat the two of them emitted.
"Oh my god. Sweetheart, I â Fuck, you gotta â " She never learned what exactly she had to do since Joel's voice would have cut off even if she hadn't leaned down to kiss him in that moment. Their lips performed a heated dance as Olivia stroked his cock a few more times before deciding that she had no more patience in herself either. So, she let go of him, positioned her sopping entrance right above him and guided his tip to her opening.
"Fuck," Joel cursed at the mere first contact. It was so good, his body so in need of her warmth that he couldn't even worry about cumming too fast. He just took it all in, relishing every second of the moment while Olivia sank down on his manhood.
"Okay like this?" he rumbled, head thrown back but his hands on her waist to ground and steady her.
"Yeah," she said, breath uneven and her cheeks flushed.
"Go slow. Don't want ya to hurt yourself."
"I'm okay. It's so â fuck⊠feels really good, Joel."
He laughed gently and caressed her naked thighs that were beautifully flexing from the way she was holding herself up on top of him.
"Yeah⊠It does⊠Really fuckin' â oh shit."
She had started moving with no warning whatsoever, causing his mind to spin and his throat to tighten. She slowly rolled her hips, no rapid bouncing or quick circles, just precise and deliberate rotations that created the exact right mixture between real, divine pleasure and a certain amount of teasing.
It kept him on his tiptoes and made him eager for more, so when she picked up her pace the slightest a few moments later, he almost feared to hurt her with his bruising grip. To avoid evoking any pain in her, he chose to bring his hand between her legs instead. From this angle, it wasn't as easy to rub her pulsing clit, but he managed and observed with silent delight how the pleasure made her hip movements a little more wobbly and uneven.
"Still good?" Joel chuckled, biting down on his inner cheek and firmly pressing up against her nub.
"FuckâŠ" she exhaled with her eyes squinted and her hands, which were flat on his chest for stability, digging into his flesh. "Fuck, Joel, it's â so muchâŠ"
Joel simply couldn't repel the desire to grab one of her hands and bring it to his lips, pressing a kiss on each of her knuckles.
"Too much? Want me to slow it down?" he then groaned, his vision blurry from the way she clenched around him every time he swiped across her clit. That was part of the reason why he was glad when Olivia shook her head and thrust her hips forward into his hand.
"N-No. S'good. So good, fuck â "
After a few more minutes like this, his longing for her, the need to feel her closer to him, became overwhelming and drove him to sit up straight. He surely had enjoyed the view of her bare chest and stomach, but not only was it freezing â though his body felt ignited â but he also missed the softness of her body. Therefore, Joel nimbly draped his arms around her torso, pushed gently against her shoulder blades and purred softly as Olivia dropped her head onto his shoulder.
"All good? You need me to take over?" Joel placed a hand on her nape and combed through the baby hair. She had previously worn a low ponytail but due to all his playing with her strands, her hair was only vaguely held together by the tie.
"I'm good⊠Just â maybe I need a little help?"
Olivia didn't have to elaborate further than that. He nodded in understanding and dropped his right hand to the small of her back. Then, gathering his strength and slightly adjusting her in his hold, Joel began thrusting up from below her. The change of positions additionally allowed him easier access to her clit, so in no time, he had found a nice rhythm of pleasuring the most sensitive spot of her body and fucking her steadily.
"You feel so fuckin' good. You know that?" Joel grunted in her ear and seized the opportunity to kiss her neck as she threw her head back.
"Joel," she squealed in response, scraping her nails over his bare back, which left a sharp, captivating sting that only added to the thrill of it all. The setting, being outside underneath the stars, the cold air brushing over his lower back while Olivia's blazing hot body was squeezed against his front⊠Everything was a bewitching combination that worked on him in a way he had never experienced before. Unfortunately, that might be the very reason why Joel knew he wouldn't last much longer.
"BabyâŠ" he hissed through a clenched jaw, landing kisses along her collarbone. "Not gonna last much longer, m'sorryâŠ"
"It's okay⊠It's fine, just cum on my stomach."
He winced in disapproval, swaying his head to the side as pleasure made his nerves prickle and seethe.
"N-No⊠Need ya to â to cum."
Her warm hands forced him to meet her gaze, which was just as warm as it was fervent.
"Cum, Joel. Please. It's okay, I want you to let go."
With that, Olivia broke his not-so-steady rhythm, swiftly glided off his manhood and assisted him in pointing the tip to her stomach.
"OliviaâŠ" Joel tried protesting one last time since his guilty conscience of releasing too soon was gnawing on him, but as she stroked his soaked member a few times, every thought was driven out of him like the air was when someone punched him in the gut.
He came hard, his pulse throbbing under her firm fist while ropes of cum were spilling onto her skin. The darkness surrounding them made him incapable of sensing where exactly his seed was spurting, but he assumed that most of it was landing on her lower belly.
"FuckâŠ" Joel growled with his chin resting on his chest and his hands on her thighs. "Fuck, I'm sorry."
A faint ruddy coat had spread across his cheeks, causing him to appreciate the lack of any light. He felt like a teenage boy who was yet to discover and more importantly, keep his body under control. Olivia deserved someone who put her pleasure before their own, and here he was uncontrollably spilling his semen across her stomach because he hadn't been able to wait for another five minutes. But he would make it up to her. Whatever she needed, he would give it to her. Maybe he should just make her cum a couple more times as reparation. Just to be sure.
"Don't be sorryâŠ" Olivia murmured and cradled his face, her eyes radiating so much love, he could have melted on the spot. Maybe he actually was melting. It would make perfect sense with his limbs feeling like jelly even though he hadn't been the one doing any of the work.
"I'm gonna make it up to ya if you let me?" It sounded like a question, though he hoped she would unconditionally accept his offer instantly.
"Make it up to me?" she grinned and slid her thumb all the way from his temple down to his hairy chin. "How?"
"Whatever you want. I just wanna make you cum. With my tongue, my lips, my fingers⊠You choose."
Olivia laughed and teasingly rubbed her core against his thigh. "You really have a lot of trust in your abilities, right?"
"Oh I do. And I think you do tooâŠ"
Part of him couldn't even believe the words coming out of his mouth. Although he had made Olivia cum many times with various parts of his body, he was still often gripped by a certain type of self-consciousness. He knew her body and what worked on her, but what if that specific night would be different? Or what if he changed something about his technique that wasn't to her liking at all?
"I do⊠I would like your fingers, Joel. They look really sexy tonight."
Joel raised his eyebrows while already coming up with a way to protect her from the muddy floor while having a better angle on her cunt, so that he didn't have to twist his wrist.
"You think they look sexy?" he wondered and took a brief glance at his hands, trying to figure out if something was different to usual.
"They always look sexy."
"Mhm I seeâŠ" Lips drawn with amusement, Joel deftly spun her around in his lap, spread his legs and sat her between them, her back pressed against his chest. "Then watch 'em⊠They're gonna make you feel real good."
He buried his face, more precisely his nose and forehead, into her dark hair while he trailed his index finger along her mound. Obviously, his teasing wouldn't go beyond a few playful swipes around the area that most required attention. After all, his intention was to make up for cumming too soon, so first and foremost, this was supposed to be sweet for her from the very first touch until she would eventually unravel in his lap. Just for him, might be worth mentioning.
Olivia was already moaning long before he had found his rhythm, her hips writhing and her hands locked around his thighs. He had stuffed her full with two fingers while his thumb was in the exact right place to rub her clit that was all stiff and swollen against his skin. Meanwhile, he was whispering dirty things in her ear, ranging from sweet nothings to all the things he wished he could do to her all day and night until the darkness had utterly consumed them.
As her body was already charged and tense from the earlier stimulation, it didn't take long until Olivia announced her imminent high, which gave Joel good reason to quicken his pace just the slightest. He didn't want to rush it, nor did he want to make her feel like she wasn't worth his patience, so as her body began to tremble and clench in front of him, he made sure to draw the moment out as long as it was possible. His left hand was like iron around her waist, keeping her pinned against his front while his right made no attempt to let go just yet. He pressed into her clit, curled his fingers inside her and whispered reassuring praise in her ear.
"That's it, yeah⊠That's it, sweetheart."
"Joel. Oh my godâŠ" Her lids fluttering, she tensed mindlessly, clutching his wrist with such a firm grip, he nearly let out a gasp. After giving her bundle of nerves a few last affectionate taps, he withdrew, sensing how her tense body squirmed a little.
It was even better this way, because now, Joel could turn her around and properly see her face again. And jesus⊠it was gleaming. It almost seemed as though her face and head, no, her whole presence, was embedded in golden shimmer that made the brown in her irises sparkle. And considering that it was the blackest night, this effect could only be transcendent.
"Fuck⊠You really are good," Olivia sighed.
"Thanks, sweetheart," Joel chuckled but then was quick to help her get dressed before she would catch a cold being so exposed to the cold. "You all right? S'really fuckin' cold an' you⊠You got goosebumps."
He wasn't looking at the goosebumps on her arms though but her pointed nipples that stood hard against the fabric of her shirt.
"It's okay. If I'm gonna get sick, it was worth it."
Pulling her sleeve over her wrists, she reached for his face, wiping away a drop of sweat that was dissolving across his torrid skin.
"Don't say thatâŠ" Joel replied, a throaty sound escaping him that made Olivia grin with equal blissfulness.
Gosh⊠how he loved this post-orgasm kind of mood that resembled a warm blanket and was both lying upon them to comfort their trembling bodies and muffling all the pressing and urging voices inside his head. Voices, that were worrying about all sorts of things from his brother's and his other friends' well-being to their own safety out here in the woods, and that would have usually kept him awake. But no, tonight, Joel just had a very distinct feeling in his gut that sleep would overcome him as soon as he craved it.
Though maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't want that immediately. Because as he was still savoring the cloudiness of his brain, Olivia had pulled her shirt over her head, lovingly adjusted the sleeves and then rolled off him. The both of them snug in their sleeping bags, she instantly found his proximity, closing the distance with a determined nudge of her chin against his shoulder.
She didn't need to say anything. Joel reacted before his mind could process, and he crawled in the right position to spoon her from behind. That way, their bodies were flush against each other, his hands reflexively tangling in front of her stomach.
"S'nice," Olivia hummed and closed her eyes.
"Yeah. You're nice." Jesus Christ, he didn't even know what he was saying. But it seemed as though Olivia did not know either because she overlooked the brainless comment.
"Joel?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I ask you something?"
Resting his chin against her shoulder, he groaned softly, which was enough encouragement for her to continue.
"When was the first time you ever had sex with someone?"
Joel paused, caught off guard by the bluntness of her words. He had expected a lot of things, but not that.
"Christ⊠That was â some time ago. Why do you wanna know?"
"Because I wanna know who taught you this shit."
Joel huffed, carefully glancing at her profile.
"And I mean this in the most positive way, of course. I might have to send them flowers," she then added, making his skin burn and his heart skip a beat.
"Yeah, wellâŠ" Joel cleared his throat, then brushed her hair aside to kiss her neck almost shyly.
"Her name was Jennifer. From my biology class."
He didn't even want to think about anyone else while he was with Olivia, which was why he buried his nose in her nape to smell her scent that he swore he would have been able to distinguish from a thousand different human beings rather than thinking about the aggressive rose perfume of Jennifer.
"Was she your first girlfriend?"
He nodded and tightened his grip around her stomach.
"Yeah. I was 17. And everyone wanted a boyfriend or girlfriend. Her friends thought that we would make a good couple 'n' so it just happened. It was terrible."
"Terrible how?" Olivia asked into the darkness, placing her hand on top of his.
"Well, I was the most insecure boy you could imagine. I was so scared of it, I just remember havin' to catch my breath every few seconds while we were kissin' 'cause I couldn't breathe properly."
"Oh goodâŠ" Olivia sighed.
"Yeah. We both had no fuckin' clue. We were nervous and I think we both didn't have a good time. I think we tried again a couple of times after that, but we never really got to a point where we weren't nervous."
"But you were boyfriend and girlfriend?"
Joel chuckled dryly, his heart heavy at the memory. "If you can call it that⊠It meant walkin' through the school together while holdin' hands and goin' to the prom together."
"I'm sorry⊠That it wasn't such a pleasant experience."
"Don't be. T'was ages ago. I don't think I can remember her face⊠Just her perfume. The most intrusive rose scent you can imagine. Gosh⊠I hated it. And somehow her whole house smelled like it. Even her bathroom."
Olivia laughed quietly, moving his left hand to her face to kiss the back of it. He had noticed that she liked to do that sometimes, and even though he had found the gesture to be a little strange and mawkish at first, it usually caused the butterflies in his stomach to flutter. And right now wasn't an exception.
"What about you?"
"Oh you don't wanna knowâŠ"
"What do you mean I don't wanna know? Of course I do." He lifted his head slightly to catch a glimpse of the way her eyebrows were drawn together. "Not good?"
"I mean⊠I don't know. It was a guy I had literally just met. I guess â I did it to piss off my parents or something. Even though they never found out about it. It was just for my inner peace or something. Knowing that I had the power to really upset them if I told them."
"Alright, I think I'm gonna need some context," Joel uttered, a deep crease of confusion etched into his features.
"He was the son of our local video shop owner. And I went there a lot, so I knew him. His name was Colin. And one day⊠we were just talking about a movie I had rented and he â I swear to god, this is so weird because the film had nothing to do with it, but he asked me."
"Asked you what?" Joel chuckled, nuzzling her neck.
"If I had ever had sex before."
"Oh JesusâŠ" Joel groaned, though he couldn't suppress gentle laughter.
"I know⊠It was so weird. Everything about it was so weird. But I don't know, we talked about it and he said that he was a virgin but that he heard about all this crazy stuff and â we ended up doing it in the back of his store."
"Wait, in the shop? So his dad wasn't there? And â what about the customers?"
Olivia sniggered while turning in his grasp so that she was lying on her back and could meet his gaze.
"His father was obviously gone, silly. And he just closed the shop⊠Different times, darling." She had whispered those words like they were the most natural reasoning in the world, leaving him speechless for a moment.
"Wow. That's a wilder story than mine⊠The local video shop owner's son⊠How old were you?"
"We were both 16."
"And did you have a good time?" She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, a motion that she surely didn't consciously do with the purpose of driving him mad, yet he felt his pulse quicken in his throat at the sight.
"Let's say it was okay. I didn't cum, but I think that was just because this guy had no idea about the fucking clitoris. But I remember feeling comfortable."
Joel nodded quickly, feeling heat rush into his face.
"Joel Miller, I can't believe you're blushing at the word clitoris even though you've just whispered way nastier things in my ear â while you were doing way nastier things than any of the stuff Colin and I did back then."
Her teasing didn't exactly enhance his situation as he swiftly ran a hand through his hair.
"I ain't â I'm not blushin'. Just â Sorry. That you â that you didn't cum⊠He was a douchebag."
Then, before Olivia had the opportunity to address the flush on his face more extensively, he changed the topic to something that had been nagging at him for a long time.
"Your parents, they â I mean, you keep talkin' about how much you wanted to piss 'em off⊠That you didn't have a good relationship. Why? What was that about?"
"I already told you, didn't I? I was a horrible child."
He squinted in doubt. "I can't believe that."
"Well, you better. Because it's the truth." Scrunching her nose, Olivia scanned his drawn expression precisely.
"But why? I mean, you're not horrible now. So I can't believe you were as a kid."
"That's nice to hear. I think you would've hated me."
"But â But I just can't picture it. Whenever you talk about your childhood, it's like you got those two different personalities."
With a tender smile creeping up on her lips, Olivia raised her hand to his lips, tracing the outline. "I think the problem was just that I really fucking hated living in a cul-de-sac. Sometimes, you just wanna get away from it all but you only have one road that leads away. Do you know how depressing that is?"
"Okay, I see, you don't wanna talk about it," Joel whispered and laid back down whereas he had previously supported his weight on his elbow.
"I'm serious, Joel. Have you ever lived in one? You go outside and the whole street can basically stare at you. It's like â it's like a circle of hell. Especially when your neighbors are all old couples who you're scared are gonna drop dead every time they step outside."
"Okay, maybe your whole thing about bein' a horrible kid makes a little more sense now," he wheezed, deliberately moving her on her side again, so that he could have her back pressed against his front.
"Alright, Mr Cynical," Olivia scoffed at once. "At least I've never used an old, cute little family picture to wipe blood off my boots."
He rolled his eyes at the reference, thinking back to a moment a few days ago when he and Olivia had searched the apartment building in the city. There had been some human blood on the floor, which Joel had negligently stepped into, which was why he had taken the next best thing to clean them: a black and white family picture on a table nearby. Olivia had obviously used the situation to make a drama out of it that had been grander than the action itself. Of course, she wouldn't let it go any time soon.
"Jesus⊠Did it look like someone needed it? I think the person who might've was dead on the ground. At least I gave it a purposeâŠ"
"Mhmm, yeah, I think the guy definitely would've agreed that it was such an act of kindness for you to grant him one last moment of dignity by wiping the shit off your shoes with his family photo. Which probably was the last remaining memory of them."
Joel pressed his lips together, fighting the urge to laugh. It was ridiculous, and Olivia was probably right about it, but it was the way she was saying it that caused him to vibrate with laughter.
"There was no shit. Just blood."
"No shit? After we walked through that shithole all day? Joel, I think there was weeks old shit on your shoes. But that just makes it all even better, right? You gave the photo even more purpose by cleaning it with really really old shit."
Joel grinned crookedly, shaking his head in disbelief at the absurdity of her words.
"Okay, maybe it wasn't my proudest moment."
"I think it wasn't that poor guy on the floor's proudest moment."
"Will you let me finish?" Joel snorted and teasingly squeezed her waist. "It wasn't my proudest moment, but for what it's worth, I'm grateful to that guy. And his family."
Joel and Olivia chuckled in unison, and all he could think about was how good and liberating it felt to finally have the muscles in his face work like that again. While there had been funny and even hilarious moments during their stay in Kansas City, Joel had been under a certain amount of pressure, that had been straining and constant. Now, with the tight collar around his throat gone, he could both breathe and laugh freely again. The weight, the restraints and the chains were broken and secretly, he attributed that win to her. Just like he was of the strong opinion that all of his recent successes and moments of fortune were thanks to her.
"I'm gonna have to sleep now, JoelâŠ" Olivia groaned after a while.
"Yeah⊠S'probably best. Or else, you might fall off your horse tomorrowâŠ" he mumbled, his mind already halfway to the land of dreams.
"Horse?" she giggled but made no effort to brutally tote him back to the present now that sleep had nearly captured him.
Olivia just securely clutched his hands in her fingers, ensuring that she would wake up under any circumstances if something might tear Joel away from her tonight.
Then, with some warm prickles flaring in her belly, she found her peace too.
Chapter Summary: Over the evening you have enough time to realize how much you really want Harry. Cheers to NYE traditions then...
Chapter warnings: fluff and flirt and maybe kissing...
wc: 1.2k
Previous Chapter
Story Masterlist | My Pedro-Character-Masterlist
Music was louder now, the kind that filled corners and bounced off walls, thumping beneath the chatter of thirty voices that had grown looser, louder, happier with each fresh pour of champagne. Laughter spilled like champagne too, bubbling. You let it wash over you as you lingered on the sofa with a cluster of friends, Amy draped across your lap like a cat, legs warm against your thighs.
But even with Amy pressing her cheek against your shoulder, even with the hum of conversation around you, you couldnât help the way your eyes found Harry again and again across the room.
This time, he wasnât composed, deliberate Harry. He wasnât measured or watching. He was leaning into Kazeemâs side, one arm slung across his friendâs shoulders as they laughed so hard they shook. You blink. You had never seen him like this before - cheeks flushed, grin loose, body unguarded. He looked lighter. Younger. Free in a way that was devastating to witness.
And he looked good. The sweater youâd already clocked earlier looked even softer in the amber light. His dark-rimmed glasses slipped slightly down his nose as he threw his head back laughing, and when Kazeemâs hand slapped his chest in their shared hilarity, Harry didnât flinch, didnât resist - he pulled him closer, laughed harder.
Not a single scrap of ego in sight. No brittle edge of masculinity that so many men wore like armor. Just warmth. Affection. It made you blush and your heart pound, and you had to look away before the butterflies in your chest gave you away.
Amyâs head tilted up from your lap, catching your line of sight. A sly smirk spread across her face.
âIf I donât see a New Yearâs kiss at midnight,â she murmured, words syrupy with drink, âIâll shove you both off the balcony myself.â
You laughed under your breath, trying to bat her off. âLet a girl breathe. I need -"
But Amy didnât wait for your excuses. She rose fluidly, weaving her way, passing the couch table and crossed legs until she was standing in front of Harry and Kazeem, who were still doubled over with some old university joke.
âIâm beginning to think youâre more in love with him than I am,â Amy teased, eyes on Harry as she slid herself into their circle.
You felt a flush of something that wasnât quite jealousy, but close - a proud tug like a warm ache. Love. You hadnât heard Amy sound like that in a long time.
Harry threw up his hands in mock surrender. âGuilty,â he said, grin crooked. âBut donât forget, Iâve seen him naked more times than you can count.â
Kazeem barked out a laugh that filled the room, pulling Amy into his lap with ease. Harry let himself be nudged out of the way, still chuckling as he stumbled lightly back toward the sofa.
And then he was beside you.
He dropped into the seat with a careless grace, a beer bottle dangling from one hand. His other arm lifted, spreading casually across the back of the sofa. He wasnât touching you - he wasnât even trying to - but the space he filled, the warmth he radiated, the faint graze of his fingers against the bare skin of your arm as he adjusted⊠it was enough to make your pulse race.
You told yourself not to lean back. You did anyway, almost unconsciously, your shoulder brushing the crook of his elbow.
Across from you, Amy and Kazeem were already tangled together, their kiss unashamed, long and hungry.
âTheyâre a sight, arenât they?â Harryâs voice was low, amusement threading through it, and the vibration of it ran straight down your spine.
âTheyâll probably make the most disgustingly beautiful babies alive,â you said before thinking.
His laugh came soft, a sound you felt in your chest. You turned your head to meet his gaze. His eyes, behind the glass, were dark and impossibly warm. Abd he didnât look away.
And then his fingers brushed your skin again - this time deliberate.
Your breath caught. To shield your sudden spike in pulse you tipped your glass toward him with a crooked smile, voice teasing to mask the thundering in your ribs. âCareful. Someone might think youâre making a move on me.â
The alcohol loosened your tongue, made you bold. But you didn't care. Not tonight.
He leaned closer, grin tugging his mouth. âJust making sure Iâm not left alone at midnight.â
You snorted, heat rising to your cheeks. âWow. Someoneâs confident. What makes you so sure youâll get a New Yearâs kiss?â
His reply came as a whisper against your ear, intimate enough to scatter goosebumps down your arms. âWasnât talking just about a kiss.â
Your breath stuttered and you open your mouth to reply, but before you could, Amy shrieked from across the room.
âTwo minutes to midnight! Everyone out on the terrace!â
The living room erupted. Chairs scraped, coats were grabbed, champagne flutes refilled in haste as people spilled toward the wide glass doors of the balcony. You rose too, slipping away toward the bedroom where Kazeem had stashed your coat earlier.
The pile on the bed was chaos - wool and leather and fur thrown together - but your jacket was nowhere to be found. You cursed softly under your breath, considering just braving the terrace without it.
When you turned, he was there.
Harry leaned against the doorframe, half-shadowed by the dim light, the glow from the terrace spilling faintly around him. Outside, the countdown had already begun, muffled but insistent, voices chanting in unison.
âTenâŠâ
He pushed off the frame and stepped toward you.
âNineâŠâ
You let the jacket you just held slip from your hands and straightened your spine. âSo this is your grand move?â you murmured, unable to stop the smile tugging your lips.
âEightâŠâ
âDepends,â he said, closing the space with unhurried confidence. âIs it working?â
âSevenâŠâ
Another step. The room seemed to shrink around you.
âSixâŠâ
You crossed your arms, the smirk barely disguising the tremor in your body. âOnly one way to find out.â
âFiveâŠâ
Now he was in front of you, so close you could see the flecks of hazel behind the glass of his frames.
âFourâŠâ
His hand rose gently, fingers grazing the line of your jaw before tipping your chin upward.
âThreeâŠâ
Your lips parted without your meaning to, breath catching, waiting.
âTwoâŠâ
The terrace roared:
âOne! Happy New Year!â the crowd bellowed, cheers rising like fireworks.
But you barely heared them.
Because Harry was kissing you.
Softly at first - so soft you thought you might had imagined it. A brush of lips, tentative, reverent, as though he was giving you the chance to pull away.
You didnât.
You surged instead, hand fisting in the front of his sweater, pulling him down to you. And just as the fireworks cracked over the skyline, the kiss deepened. He tasted of beer, of warmth, of him - everything you wanted, everything you hadnât let yourself admit you needed until this very second.
Outside, the city thundered with color and sound, champagne glasses clinking, voices shouting greetings to the new year.
Inside, in the shadowed quiet of the bedroom, you pressed yourself against Harry, kissing him like nothing else mattered. Not London. Not the new job. Not the impossible tangle of what-ifs.
Mandalor Din Djarin, who never wanted the throne of the newly re- established planet of Mandalore, but accepted his responsibilities for the sake of his people, even going as far as to agree to an arranged marriage with you, the daughter of a high end political figure of a neighbouring planet, all in the name of good relations. Who, on the wedding day barely spoke to you (beyond what was expected), as it was obvious you weren't happy about this union either. Who, on the wedding night lead you to the royal suit, and when you began to tremble, assured you he would never force you to do anything you're not comfortable with, then, removed his helmet and turned his back to you in your shared bed to show you he means you no harm.
Mandalor Din Djarin, who tried to make these changes as easy as possible for both of you, giving you space when you didn't have to deal with royal responsibilities together or make public appearances. Who sometimes feels just as trapped as you, often longing for his simpler days of bounty hunting. Who accepts you both have to make the best of this situation and, after a period of adjustment, began to initiate simple conversations with you at dinner times in hopes to understand you better and vice versa. Who slowly began to see the quick witted woman beneath the "proper lady" image you no doubt had been groomed to present your entire life, and began to enjoy the exchanges every evening, and noticed that you too, had began to relax in his presence and even offer him genuine smiles; smiles he had not prepared himself for and made a warmth in his chest bloom every time.
Mandalor Din Djarin, who always makes sure to ask your opinion on matters of state during official meetings- against the whispered advice of some advisors, who'd implied you should just be there to "Look the part" and nothing more. Who had begun to value your input more than certain council members and makes no secret of it. Who, erupts in fury when one of the members dares to publicly disrespect your authority- calling you a foreign acquisition, who's sole purpose is to produce Mandalorian heirs. Who doesn't think twice before un-leashing the Dark Sabre and holding so close to the man's throat he can smell the skin burning, warning everyone present that the next time anyone dares to disrespect his Riddur, their Queen, heads will literally roll. Who'd dismissed the room and only begun to calm down when your hand settled on the un-armoured part of his shoulder and, instead of calling him "My Lord" (as you always had), you simply called him Din.
Mandalor Din Djarin, who didn't expect the shift between you both since that moment in the council chambers. Who found himself drawing closer to you as the weeks went on, noticing that you seemed just as receptive to him as he is to you. Who, on a number of occasions detected your rising pulse and quickening heartbeat through his helmet's sensors when you looked at him for too long. Who had woken up early one morning to find you, not sleeping on your side of the bed, but on his bare chest, his arm finding the curve of your waist in his sleep. Who dared not move, lest he wake you and ruin this surprisingly perfect moment. Who realised with startling clarity that, despite the rocky start of this arranged marriage, he'd fallen hopelessly in love with his Queen and he suspects you may feel the same way.
Mandalor Din Djarin, who, after an unexpected attack on the still growing capital city, almost lost you to an ambush while you were escorting the foundlings to a safe room. Who viciously cut down every enemy in his path to get to you, and only when the doctor had assured him you'd suffered no injury, did he drop to his knees in front of you in the privacy of your bed chamber, rip his helmet off and confess his love for you. Who's heart swelled when you dropped to your knees with him and through rolling tears, cupped his face and cried that you love him too! Who, that night made tender love to you in the marital bed, slipping into euphoria as he pulled orgasm after orgasm from your shuddering body. Who worshiped every inch of you and received just as much reverence from you in return as you both drowned in the intimacy of one another. Who held you while you slept, stroking his hand up and down your bare shoulder and felt, for the first time since becoming Mandalor, that as long as he has you by his side, maybe he can do this job after all.
she was immortal. she was bisexual. she was a band aid for a shitty marriage. she did not choose this life. she endured. she took out the trash. she fell in love. she became the first priority to someone she loved. she was madeleine's coven. she was horribly wronged. she fought until she could no longer. she looked at him at the end, like a child looking to her father.
Joel Miller was doing the best he can as a single dad, relying on his 'village' to raise his little girl after the sudden death of his wife. All was fine until his BabyGirl came home from her first day of school with a bruise on her arm, courtesy of the new girl in school.
WARNINGS: Enemy to Lovers, Secrets, Misunderstanding, Jealousy, Fluff, Pining, Loneliness, Helicopter Parenting, OverProtective Dad, More to add as story moves on.
MASTER LIST
Part 1
Disclaimer - I don't beta my work, and English is not my first language, so sorry if there are errors.
Joel didnât think anyone was there after him. He had thought the car next to his truck was a teachers. He felt so embarrassed that she saw him cry, though she was crying herself, it seemed. He had smiled at her, a sad, understanding smile that only a parent in his predicament could give another.
And she gave one equally sad, understanding smile right back at him.
If he had to guess, it was her childâs first day of school too.
See? Thereâs nothing to be embarrassed about, lots of parents felt sad on their childrenâs first day of school. So he wasnât exactly alone, nor was he dramatic.
He watched as the lady got in her car, took a deep breath, wiped her face and drove off.
He started his truck up to leave too, a smile suddenly appearing on his lips. The small, sad, reciprocating smile the lady gave him didnât leave his mind. Still kind and understanding despite her own sadness. He really should find her later, thank her for seemingly understanding his situation.
Maybe beg her to not blab to the other moms about him crying like a little girl in his truck.
Finding out what her name was wouldnât be a bad idea either.
Wait, who said that?
âHey Daze,â Joel greeted, swiping the newly fallen leaves off his wifeâs headstone. He was there just the day before with Sarah, and already the leaves were starting to cover her grave. Fall was definitely coming. His eyes fell to the base of the headstone, noticing the handful of daisies in the vase. He looked around, looking for anyone that might have been there before him, but saw no one.
He was there less than 24 hours ago. Itâs not even 10am yet. There was no flowers in the vase when he left yesterday. He had never left her flowers. She hated it when he bought her flowers. He wasnât exactly flush with money when they started dating, and she chastised him for buying her flowers for their first date, telling him it was a waste of money. Tommy wasnât in town, Tess just told him that she wasnât visiting until today, so it couldnât have been them. They never left her flowers, even if they visited.
So, who left the flowers?
Ignore it, youâre here to tell your late wife about your daughterâs first day of school, he told himself.
He rearranged the flowers, swiping more leaves off her gravestone, running his pointer finger through the petals, admiring them before he could help himself.
âYou have an admirer, it seems,â he joked. âShould I be jealous?â he laughed. âAnywayâŠâ he sighed.
Images of the crying lady he just saw at the school flashed in his mind.
What the fuck was that? You were at your wifeâs headstone, Joel Miller.
He was just emotional, is all. He related to her. She seemed sad to leave her child too, just like he was. Itâs nothing to feel guilty over. It was innocent.
âI just dropped our daughter at school. You should have seen how brave she was, Daze. She didnât cry at all. In fact, she was the one who coaxed me,â he laughed. âYouâd be so proud of her honey, shot out the door this morning before I finish cutting her sandwich crust off! She definitely didnât get that from me, I hated school. So, this is all you, honey, sheâs gonna grow up smart like you, thank God.â
He fell silent for a while.
âI canât even⊠you have no idea how much I wish you were here today. Iâm scared honey. Sheâs growing up so fast. I donât know if I can do thisâŠâ he said, his fingers picking up stray leaves and the off grass off the ground.
He was quiet for a beat, as if listening to someone. He huffed, rolling his eyes.
âDonât you start about that now. Tommy already gave me enough grief about that. You know he tried to introduce me to yet another one of his rejects? Sandy something. Or was it Samantha? I donât know⊠I just⊠I canât⊠I donât have the mental capacity for it anymore, honey. You know me. I donât do these things. You had to do it for me back then, remember? You decided to ask me out, you proposed to me, I just did what you wanted honey, I donât⊠I donât know how to⊠I just keep thinking â what if theyâre mean to Sarah? Sheâs all I have in my mind right now. I donât know. Iâm not thinking about it.â
It was true. He was too busy â his parents passed when Tommy was 16. He took over, didnât go to college, not that he was ever clever enough to go, got a job, and focused on getting his brother through life. He wasnât thinking about himself. Even when he saw Daisy for the first time at the diner where she worked, despite feeling as if he was electrocuted, he didnât do anything. Flustered so badly he kept dripping coffee all over his front whenever she talked to him. She finally put a stop to his clumsy attempts to show her how much he liked her by pouring herself a cup of coffee and sitting directly across from him and promptly declared they were on their first date. And he hadnât looked at another since.
Five years. Sarah had gone to school, and he still hadnât been on a proper date. He had a one night stand with someone he met at a bar maybe three years ago, but he lay there in bed after, feeling so empty and guilty he just wanted to leave. And of course, he felt worse when he did. He didnât even leave her his number. Just disappeared and never went back to that bar.
He didnât have any connection with her at all. It was just sex, nothing like what he had with Daisy. People kept telling him that he should open his heart for another, Sarah was too young, she needed a mother figure. But even when thinking about his little girl, he couldnât do it.
He was simply not ready.
Eddie, his late brother in law had asked him over for dinner many times, him and Tess attempting to fix him up with this lady and that, the poor lady always ended up feeling hurt and annoyed by the time dinner was over. âThis was what Daze would have wanted for you, for Sarah,â Eddie had said, but he simply hugged his brother in law good night and left.
Tommy, on the other hand, was just interested in getting him laid. Simply because he was too grumpy to be around anymore. âMaybe if you take the edge off, youâd be in a better mood,â he had jested. âAt least do it manually. When was the last time you did that?â
Joel wanted to punch his brother. Sarah sleeps next door to him. He wasnât going to do that with Sarah next door. And he never locks his door at night, in case Sarah had a nightmare. He never locked the bathroom door either when he showered, in case Sarah needed him. What if she walked in? No⊠it was not worth the risk. And he was never, ever going to let Sarah have a sleepover at Tessâs or Tommyâs dingy bachelorâs pad.
So, no. No more women for him. Not until Sarah leaves for college. That, or until she meets a man and gets married, which, if things go according to his plan, wonât be until sheâs 50.
âAnyway⊠I just wanted to come by and let you know how today went. Tried talking to you in my backyard like Tess suggested, but itâs just weird. Talking to you here feels more⊠purposeful, you know? At least I know you are here. Iâll come back tomorrow and tell you about the after school news.â
He stood up, picking up his jacket from the ground. âLove you honey. See you tomorrow,â he pressed his fingers to his lips, pressing them to her name on the headstone, his eyes on the daisies. âAnd tell you secret admirer you have a husband, okay? No hanky-panky!â he joked, before turning around and leaving.
He doesnât cry for her anymore. He was all cried out the day he put her in the ground, that, and all the nights since that he cried himself to sleep in the year that followed, especially when he got overwhelmed. He found it frustrating, but he simply couldnât. It wasnât as if she could do anything about it. And knowing her, she wouldnât want him to waste his tears on her. He had Sarah to worry about now.
After a lot of Googling and arguing with Dina (who did the Googling for him), it turned out all he needed to cut the crusts of a sandwich without squishing the bread was a knife. Not just any knife, a serrated knife, it seemed. He didnât even know there was such a thing as a bread knife.
Sigh⊠yet one more thing he was lacking in the parental department.
So there he was, staring at knives at the local chain superstore, wondering how his life had come to this â standing in the kitchen aisle of a store, looking at knives to cut off the crusts off his daughterâs sandwiches.
Why were there so many different bread knives? He didnât even know these existed, and now suddenly there were so many to choose from? There were simple ones, fancy ones, cheap ones, expensive ones.
Holy shit.
He didnât know some knives could cost that much. Do the more expensive ones mean better sandwiches? Do the sandwiches make themselves? Would he still have to buy the ingredients or would the knives procure them out of thin air?
He must have been so obviously stumped. Someone with a cart full of boxes approached him and asked if he needed any help.
Hey, itâs you. That lady from the parking lot. The one who was crying, just like he was.
âYou okay, sir? You need any help?â
Joel found himself staring at you instead of the knives. Now that you were right in front of him, without the smeared glass that was his window and the tears in his eyes blurring his sight, your features struck him like lightning. Your skin, your eyes, your hair, your lips.
He found his tongue swollen, constricting his vocal cords. His face got all hot, he was pretty sure he had started sweating, all for no reason whatsoever.
The heck?
âSir?â
âAre you okay?â he dumbly asked.
You were startled by his question. âIâm sorry?â
Joel suddenly realized how dumb his question was. âSorry, I saw you this morning, in the parking lot, at school. Are you okay?â
Oh.
âYou were the man in the truck next to me,â you scratched your forehead, feeling embarrassed. âSorry, I didnât recognize you. I was too busy being a big baby,â you awkwardly joked.
He gave a small laugh. âI feel you. Was being one myself.â He was suddenly reminded that he himself was sobbing his heart out in his truck when he saw you. There might have even been a chance that he was crying a lot harder than you were.
Crap, you saw him sob his heart out.
The one time he found a woman attractive in five years, and she had seen him cry.
You must think him a wuss.
Wait, who said that?
He didnât find you attractive. Pfft. He must be out of his mind still from leaving Sarah at school this morning.
You smiled at him, and his heart almost stopped beating. Damn it, you were gorgeous. Maybe not in the drop-dead, supermodel way, but there was something about you. In your uniform, your hair just above your shoulder, very little make up, but still... striking.
âFirst day of school?â
âYeah,â he said, scratching his head.
What do you do with your hands when you talk to someone? What did he normally do? Why were his hands hanging by his side like some limp noodles? Could he still feel them?
He finally found the wherewithal to put his hands in his pockets, his shoulders rising to his ears from his own awkwardness.
You nodded, âSo, can I help you with something? Youâre looking for knives?â
âUh, yes. A bread knife,â he said, taking his hands out of his pockets and crossing them on his chest. Wait, you might find him rude or think he was bored. He uncrossed them and placed them on his hips. Same thing.
Fuck, what do you do with your hands?
âWell, do you have a specific one in mind?â
Oh thank God, he didnât think he could survive another awkward moment. This was good. Talking is good. Questions are good. He wouldnât focus on his hands so much.
âJust, anything that could cut the crusts off a sandwich and not end up squishing the bread,â he said, his hands still hanging limply by his sides.
âOh, any of these will do,â you said. âDo you have a budget?â
âUh, not really, does it matter?â
âNot really. They should cut bread the same way,â you answered, taking the cheapest one off the shelf. âIn fact, the more expensive the knives, the more care they need.â
âAh,â he said, smiling, his hand taking the knife from you, suddenly functioning normally again. He studied the knife, âSo, just cut the bread the way you would with the usual knife?â
âNo, you saw the bread. Itâs why theyâre serrated. Like you would when youâre sawing wood.â
âWell, I know a little something about that,â he huffed a small laugh, immediately cringing when he saw the confused look on your face. âIâm⊠Iâm a contractor. And a carpenter. Part time, but you know, I saw things a lot.â
You gave him a slow nod, looking a bit awkward now.
âI mean wood, I saw wood. Not⊠people, or anything weird.â
Stop talking.
âLike, actual wood, from a tree?â
Oh my God, stop talking! Just take the damned knife and go pay!
You gave him another nod, an awkward smile on your lips.
Damn, even in the awkward situation you found yourself to be in, your smile made his heart skip a beat. What the heck was going on?
âSo youâre okay? Youâve decided?â
âTo keep my daughter in school?â he laughed, âI kinda have to, I am not the brightest. I have to let her go to school if sheâs ever going to have a chance,â he said.
You looked stumped.
âI mean, with the knife, youâre gonna get that one?â
Oh.
âUh⊠yeah, thank you for your help.â
Your smile returned, and you just like that, you turned your cart around and went on your way.
Joel found a pillar in the middle of the store and banged his head on it.
What the fuck was that? What happened?
God, he was being creepy, wasnât he? Who talks about sawing stuff off to someone they had never met? And why on earth was he correcting himself talking about sawing wood instead of people as if you had such morbid thoughts in the first place?
He wandered around the store for a while, picking up some berries and mini pretzels for Sarahâs lunch the next day, just for the sake of variety. He got stopped by the lady who was promoting some sort of luncheon meat at him, the woman smiling a bit too much, her eyelashes batting unnecessarily at him.
He never got why women did that with him. He didnât even brush his hair that morning, and all the confused and impatient hair clutching he did while listening to Dina tell him about the different types of knives couldnât have helped with the situation.
Daisy used to tease him about that. He would have conversations with women all the time, never once thinking they had ulterior motives. Despite his own crush on his late wife, he didnât realize she was flirting with him up until she instigated that first date, apparently much to the chagrin of the other waitresses.
After a few more rounds of such smiles and eyelash battings from the ladies in the produce section and the check out, Joel walked out of the store with a realisation.
You didnât do that. There was no eyelash batting or flirty smile from you.
For whatever reason, that realisation made his mood sour a little.
As he was about to start his truck, his eyes wandered around momentarily, glancing at the picnic tables by the play area. Sarah liked playing there, it was basically a weekly ritual â 30 minutes of grocery shopping, 30 minutes of play time for the little queen. Tit for tat. She sat still while he shopped, so he had to sit still while she played.
But that wasnât what he was thinking about when his eyes fell on the table he usually sits at as Sarah played.
You were sitting there, having a sandwich.
Before he could stop himself, he had turned his engine off and slammed the door behind him, walking towards you.
âHi,â he greeted, surprising himself that he actually talked to a woman without someone nudging him to, praying to God you wouldnât flinch from the creepy man who talked about sawing needlessly.
Thankfully, you didnât. You simply smiled, âHey, buyers remorse already? Are you returning the knife?â
Joel found himself so thankful that you didnât flinch or run screaming, he couldnât help but laugh out loud at your little joke.
âSad little tomatoes and cheese sandwich?â you offered, pushing your little Tupperware at him.
He raised his hand in a polite decline.
âUh, I actually just wanted to stop by to thank you, for helping me with the knife,â he said, telling you the real reason he went to see you. âMay I sit?â
You nodded, mouth full of sandwich.
He sat down, hands still awkwardly in his pockets. âIâm sorry if I came off as creepy,â he said.
You frowned at him, cocking your head a little, confused.
âJust now, talking about saws and wood and bodies⊠I just⊠I donât know what brought that on. I usually donât talk to people, I hope I didnât scare you,â he defended himself.
Ah, you nodded, seemingly understanding.
âIn my defence, I have forgotten how to talk to adults since my daughter was born,â he said, looking sheepish.
âOh,â you said, placing your sandwich on the Tupperware cover, âI hear that,â you took a drink from your water bottle. âSomeone was telling me about some actor she found to be hot the other day, and I kept thinking â was he in Bluey or Peppa Pig? Thatâs all that was playing in my household!â
He laughed, nodding, completely understanding what you were talking about.
âAnyway, donât worry about it. I didnât find you creepy. Maybe a little odd, but not creepy. Definitely not creepy,â you assured him, picking up your sandwich again.
Joel couldnât help but take a gander at your ring finger.
No ring, his heart rejoiced. Thereâs a ring line, though. New enough to be noticeable. So, unless you took it off to eat, maybe youâre a single mom? His left thumb absentmindedly scratched the pad of his left ring finger a few times without him realizing it.
âThank you,â he said, relieved. âWell, Iâll leave you then, let you have your lunch,â he got up. âMaybe Iâll see you around at pick up later.â
You nodded, giving him another smile, your mouth still full of sandwiches.
He nodded back, whispering another thank you, and began to walk away.
âOh, I almost forgot,â he said, turning back. âI would really appreciate it if we could keep what you saw in my truck this morning our little secret?â
Again, you looked confused.
âMe, crying like a little girl,â he whispered, looking embarrassed.
âAhâŠâ you laughed, miming zipping your mouth shut, locking it, and throwing away the key. âI wonât tell anyone if you wonât, remember, I was crying too.â
He shrugged, cringing while he was at it, âNot the same. I think women get a bit more freedom when it comes to crying.â
âWell, I think real men donât have a problem crying when they need to. Itâs healthy. But I get what you mean. I wonât tell a soul. I promise.â
He nodded, mouthing thank you, complete with his hands clasped together in front of his chest.
You gave him a slight bow in return, that smile still on your lips.
Joel got back in his truck and drove to the store with a smile. He went into his workshop and folded his sleeves up to get back to work, stopping just before he started, facepalming himself.
Damn it, he forgot to ask you your name.
âSarah!â he called out, waving his arm like a deranged person from outside the gate.
He heaved such a huge sigh of relief when he saw her come running out, glad she wasnât taking her own sweet time. The past ten minutes waiting in the yard with the other parents â correction â moms, was hell on earth for him.
How was it that he was the only dad picking up their children from school? Do the other dads not give a shit? He knew for a fact that even if Daisy was still alive he would have taken the day off to commemorate this special day rather than have her do the pick up alone.
Didnât help that the moms were eyeing him in a way that made his skin crawl. How was that okay? If a man looked at a woman like that theyâd be branded a pervert.
âDaddy!â Sarah came running out, her bag bouncing off her back, her water bottle swinging off her hand and the paper bag full of food he had given her flapping madly from one handle by its side.
He tried to pick her up to hug her, the girl squealing, not in a good way, and slid away from him. She wouldnât even let him take her hand to hold while walking across the car park.
Okay then, he thought, maybe she was embarrassed, lots of people there. He tried not to get emotional, but it might have been the hardest thing he had ever done. Â
âDid you have fun in school?â
Sarah nodded. âI made a friend. Her name is Ellie. She lives at the ceremony.â
âCeremony? Where is this Ceremony? Is it near here? I havenât heard of this Ceremony place.â
âNo, Daddy, you know the ceremony, we go there all the time,â Sarah sighed, sounding exasperated as she wrestled his hands away, buckling herself into the car seat herself. âThe ceremony, where Mommy is.â
âThe cemetery?â he asked, rather distracted, looking around the parking lot for your car. He hadnât seen you so far.
âYes, the ceremonytery.â
Joel turned around, forgetting about for momentarily. âShe lives at the cemetery?â
âYes. With her Mama.â
Joelâs head went cold. He had read about this, he feared this. Children like Sarah, ones who didnât socialize with other children too much, often had imaginary friends. He had wondered if Sarah would eventually have one. He lost count of the amount of times he had hidden behind walls whenever he heard Sarah talk to herself when playing, wondering if it had finally happened.
Of course, there was the strong possibility that his precious little girl had actually met someone at school who lived near the cemetery.
âYou mean, near the cemetery? Like down the road from the cemetery area?â
âNo, Daddy, she lives at the cemetery. With her Mama. Her Papa died too.â
Too? Her Papa died too? As in her Mama died, she died, and her Papa died too?
Oh God. This was worse than he thought.
His precious Baby Girl has a little girl ghost as an imaginary friend.
âDaddy! Ellie! Ellie is here! Hi Ellie!â Sarah excitedly cried, looking to her right, waving her hand rigorously.
All the hair on his body stood on end.
What the actual fuck. Thereâs a little girl ghost imaginary friend in his truck right now?
Uh⊠okay, okay. What would a good parent do?
Be supportive of your little girlâs little girl ghost imaginary friend, right? Make little girl ghost imaginary friend feel welcome?
He took his seatbelt off and turned his body around, looking directly at the empty seat next to his daughter.
âHello, EllieâŠâ he hesitated, giving the empty space a reluctant smile. âItâs really nice to meet you. Iâm Sarahâs Daddy, you can call me Uncle Joel,â he said, holding his hand out for the little girl ghost imaginary friend to shake. He shook his hand a little mid-air, his thumb and pointer finger pinched together as if grasping a little girlâs tiny hand. And then, feeling proud of himself at accepting his little girlâs little girl ghost imaginary friend, he looked at Sarah, a smug smile on his face.
Sarah was looking at him as if he had three heads.
âWho are you talking to?â she asked, looking a bit weirded out.
âYour friend, Ellie!â
âDaddy, sheâs outside, with her Mama.â
He turned to see, and his heart almost stopped.
Both with relief and excitement.
For one, there was a little girl and her Mama outside, two empty parking spaces over from his truck, the Mama getting the little girl in her own car seat, the little girl waving at Sarah.
So, Ellie was real. A real little girl, not a little girl ghost imaginary friend.
Phew.
Two, the Mama was you.
Before he could stop himself, he had unbuckled and left the cab of his truck, going around to greet you. But when he got to you, he found himself tongue-tied, unable to even make his presence known. He just stood there as you buckled your daughter in.
âMama,â Ellie said, warning you of his presence.
You turned around and saw him, hands in his pockets, shoulders up to his ears.
âHey, bread knife guy. Sawing guy,â you greeted.
His ears turned pink, a huge grin on his face. âIâm Joel,â he flustered, holding his hand out.
âAnna,â you said, taking his hand and shaking it.
âHi Ellie!â Sarah appeared out of nowhere. Wait, when did she get out of the truck?
âHi,â Ellie greeted, looking shy.
âThis is my daughter Sarah, she said she knew Ellie,â Joel told you.
âOh,â you squatted in front of her, âNice to see you again Sarah. Ellie told me all about you,â you said. âIâm Ellieâs Mama. You can call me Annie.â
Joel smiled at Ellie, and the little girl smiled back.
âSo,â Joel said as Sarah went around you to talk to Ellie, checking out her car seat, âOur daughters are friend, huh?â
âSat next to each other in class, I met her this morning, you know, before the waterworks started.â You put your hand next to your mouth and added conspiratorially, âI waited for the privacy of the parking lot for that,â you winked cheekily.
He laughed, nodding.
âUhm, this may be a bit weird, but Sarah told me you live at the cemetery?â
âOh,â you laughed, âSort of. Itâs a walk, but technically, yeah. I live in the area.â
âAh,â Joel said, âI just needed to check. Canât believe a five year oldâs claims, you know? Mine gets lost in translation a lot. She doesnât have many friends,â he explained. âItâs why I wanted to meet Ellie, itâs a long story.â
âWell, Sarah is more than welcome, weâre new here. We just moved here last week. So Ellie doesnât have many friends.â
âHello,â a friendly voice interrupted. Tess appeared, Daniel in tow, looking to be in less of a good mood. Joel gave her a peck on the cheek, giving Daniel a fist to bump, which the sulking boy ignored. Joel retracted his hand understandingly, rubbing his head instead, which the boy squirmed away from.
Okay then. Moody boy.
âAnna, this is my sister in law, Tess, and her son, Daniel,â he introduced. âTess is a teacher here.â
âAnnie, please. Nice to meet you, Tess. Hi Daniel,â you greeted, shaking Tessâs hand, waving to Daniel with the other hand.
Tess waved hi to Sarah and Ellie. The little girls gave her a shy smile back.
âMom, come on⊠I want to go see Dad,â Daniel whined.
âOkay honey, weâre going,â Tess sighed, rolling her eyes a little, looking at you and Joel for understanding, which she received. âSee you guys around. You want me to take Sarah? You going back to work?â she asked Joel.
âNo, I want to go with Daddy, Dina promised me ice cream,â Sarah interrupted before Joel could form a thought.
âOkay then, Iâll see you tomorrow, okay?â Tess said, holding her hand out for Sarah to high five. She waved to you and Joel and left, Daniel pulling her by her jacket.
âHer husband passed away a month ago, car accident,â Joel told you. âDaniel wanted to go visit, tell his Dad about his first day of school.â
âOh, Iâm sorry to hear that,â you sympathised. âWell, I wish I could stay and chat, get to know Sarah better, but I need to get going, Iâm still on the clock,â you excused yourself.
âOf course, so am I, technically. Iâll see you around,â Joel said, taking Sarah by the hand. She pulled away.
âBye Ellie!â Sarah waved as you drove away. âI like Ellie. Sheâs a lot of fun!â she told her Daddy, letting him pick her up to put in her car seat, but still insisted on buckling herself in.
âThatâs great, Baby Girl,â Joel sighed in relief as he put the truck into gear, relieved that Ellie was real, happy that he had an excuse to see you again if Sarah was this excited about Ellie.
Good parents become good friends if their children are good friends, right?
He kissed Sarah one more time before covering her little body with her blanket. She was growing far too quickly for his liking. Making decisions on her own now, going by the events of today.
Stall the growing up, Baby Girl, I canât let you go yet. Please.
He didnât want to admit it, but Sarah was acting a bit out of character since coming back from school. He was hoping it was excitement, but he couldnât stop wondering.
She refused to let him fuss over her at all. He had to stop and take deep breaths when she still wouldnât let him take her hand when walking. She kept her jacket on once she got to the store, even when she went into his office and settled on his desk to colour, even when she started sweating. He tried three times, but she didnât relent. He had opened his mouth to try the fourth time, but she put her pointer finger up at him, the way he did when he wanted her to behave and be quiet.
Okay then.
When they finally got home, she wouldnât let him help her shower, wouldnât even let him choose her pyjama that night. She wanted to choose one herself. She literally shut the door to her room on his face when he tried to go after her to help her undress. No Daddy, no. I can do myself. She picked a long-sleeved set with butterflies all over them, which surprised him. She didnât really like wearing long sleeves for sleeping. He often had to coax her into wearing one during winter, and now she had gone and worn a pair on her own volition.
He did, however, get the opportunity to tuck Sarah in, thankful that she at least didnât fight him on that, though it was not from the lack of effort on her part. She was practically passed out from exhaustion.
Thatâs what the other odd thing.
His daughter came home hungry.
She had gobbled up the ice cream Dina had bought her in no time at all and kept asking for snacks to eat at the store. And at dinner, she had two of her usual serving of mac and cheese. So she was really hungry, which was suspicious. The paper bag full of lunch was empty when she gave it back to him, so she had eaten lunch and the many, many, many snacks he had supplied her, so why was she still so hungry?
Joel didnât know if he should be concerned or happy. On the one hand, he was happy that she wasnât stressed on her first day of school and had the appetite to eat. He was often worried about her eating habits, their meals together more like an exhausting attempt from him to get her to eat any food at all. Knowing how hungry she turned out to be, heâs glad that he made sure there was enough food in her lunch pack. He shuddered at the thought of her going hungry if he hadnât.
On the other hand, he worried that his daughter might be eating a bit too much as well? Tess wasnât wrong, he knew he went overboard. That was a lot of food for her. He was just worried for her, giving her that much food was a way for him to gauge how much food he should give her. In his mind, seeing what was left would tell him how much to give her tomorrow.
But she finished all her food and was still starving.
Maybe she shared with Ellie, Daniel and her other classmates?
Maybe a different meal would be better. Instead of snacks and sandwiches and Lunchables, maybe he should give her a proper, filling meal? There was still some mac and cheese leftover from dinner, maybe he could give her those for tomorrow?
But cold mac and cheese? Not Sarahâs favourite. Even if he warmed it up before packing it, it would be cold before Sarah had the chance to eat it, wouldnât it? That girl was picky. No cold meals, but no room temperature fruits and drinks. God, everything would be warm or cold by the time she has them.
Sarah hates warm fruits. He always stored them in the fridge because she wouldnât eat them if they were room temperature. He had to figure out how he could keep the food cold or warm as needed.
He cleaned the kitchen, getting the fruits for Sarahâs snacks the next day ready. He got the oranges sliced up, taking the peels off so it was easier for her to eat, cut up the grapes into smaller pieces so she wouldnât choke on them. He washed the berries he got and put them in the Ziploc bags. Crackers and pretzels instead of cereals, peach yoghurt, jerky sticks, Jell-O cups (different flavoured than todays, of course), mixed nuts, juice boxes, all go into separate bags, ready for him to just toss into the bag for tomorrow. He realized by this point that Ziploc bags wouldnât do in the long run. Heâd be buying them out his nose at this point.
Surely, you would have a solution for that, right?
Maybe he should go back to the store to get one of those thermal containers. And if he gets overwhelmed, maybe you would help him. He wouldnât come off as being forward or anything, right? He would just be a customer needing help. And you would be doing your job. It wasnât as if he would be going to the store for the sole purpose of looking for you or anything. Of course not. What a crazy idea.
Plus, your daughters are friends. It would make sense for the two of you to be friends too, right? Right?
Anna. Annie. He liked that name on you. He looked forward to calling you by your name tomorrow. If, and only if, he needed your assistance, or if you happened to be around the area, obviously. He would never go looking for you in that huge store. Of course he wouldnât. That would be crazy. And creepy. He wouldnât want to be that guy.
But this predicament he was in was the perfect opportunity to see you alone once more. Not that he was thinking about being alone with you or anything.
In the meantime, Ziploc bags and whatever containers he could lay his hands on would have to suffice.
He scoured his kitchen for disposable food containers for the mac and cheese, which would have to do for tomorrow, found one and washed it. Lunchables would have to suffice for tomorrow, that, and maybe a couple toasts with Nutella. He even filled up her water bottle so he wouldnât have to do them the next morning.
He tried watching a show before bedtime, but found himself unable to focus, thinking about Sarahâs lunch packs. The girl hated repeats. He would have to think of a better system to make sure he got her a variety of foods, especially if she was going to eat up a storm like this every day.
Sheâs a growing girl. Boys eat a lot growing up, right? Nothing wrong with a girl eating quite a bit too.
He went to check on her one more time before bed, the little girl now splayed across her bed, her blanket half on the floor, her favourite butterfly plushie off the bed completely. He corrected her position, worried she might fall off, covering her with the blanket once more. He picked up the plushie and took her little arms to wrap around it, the sleeves of her pyjama now up to her elbows. He lifted her arm to put it back.
Wait.
Even in the dim nightlight, he could clearly see there was a noticeable bruise on her right forearm.
What?
That wasnât there that morning.
He ran his finger over it. It was huge. About the width of two of his fingers, maybe two inches long. Â
Could she have banged her arm on something? What could she have banged it on to produce a bruise that size?
His whole body went cold.
Did someone do this to his little girl? Did someone hit his Baby Girl?
He felt as if his body temperature had shot up to the sky, his heckles raised, his fangs bared.
Did someone hurt his Sarah? Who?
Oh⊠that person was going to get it from him.
Was it Miss Lydia? If it was, she will be fired beyond recognition. He would make sure of it.
Was it another child? That child would never know a peaceful life without a stern talking to from him. And their parents would know what happens to bad parents who couldnât control their children. He would make sure of it.
No one should play with Joel Miller when it came to Sarah.
They went camping once with Tommy and Tess and Eddie. A mosquito dared bite Sarah, and he spent minutes chasing that blasted creature, finally smacking it against the wall of the tent. Unsatisfied that the thing was flattened to death, he took it out between his fingers and burnt it in the campfire, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips. But that wasnât enough. He immediately stomped off to the store for bug spray, sprayed his tent to infinity and beyond to make sure no other mosquito dared drink from his little girl, even placing mosquito patches on the poor little girl as double protection.
If he finds out who had hurt his little girl? That person will pay. They will regret ever breathing in the same vicinity as his Sarah. Â
He would go scorched earth for his Baby Girl. Yes he would. And no one can stop him. He would die before he lets someone lay a hand on his little girl. And whoever this person was, the one responsible for this horrendous bruise on his Sarahâs arm, they will pay.
Summary: It is a long way back to Brooklyn but time flies when you have entertainment. Max tells you about his most memorable nights after you both survived the last one.
Warnings: just fluff and banter and due to your appearance still mention of blood
Previous Chapter
Story Masterlist | my Pedro-Character-Masterlist
You should have been falling apart.
By every rational standard, you knew that. The last forty-eight hours had ripped your life apart piece by piece and stitched it back together into something unrecognizable. You had been abducted by your partner, murdered by someone you trusted, turned into a creature you still barely understood, and forced to kill a man you had once admired. Somewhere in between all of that, your entire understanding of the world had collapsed beyond repair.
And yet none of those emotions sat at the forefront in this moment.
Instead you sat beside Max on the rocky shoreline with your fingers loosely tangled through his while laughter kept slipping out of your chest in helpless bursts as he told you about some vampire he had apparently met in the early two-thousands.
âIâm serious,â Max insisted with complete sincerity. âThe guy chipped both his fangs in a motorcycle accident outside Vegas. Completely ruined his life.â
You looked at him in disbelief. âYouâre telling me thereâs a vampire out there surviving exclusively on stolen blood bags because he face-planted off a Harley?â
âHe didnât face-plant,â Max corrected immediately. âHe got hit with a folding chair during a bar fight with motorcyclists.â
âThat somehow makes it more pathetic.â You laughed again, louder this time, the sound carrying out across the water while dawn slowly crept over the horizon behind you. Max watched you with an expression you pretended not to notice, something softer than amusement lingering in his tired features.
âThere are actual people who need those donations, you know,â you said, trying and failing to sound scandalized through your grin.
âSo does he,â Max shot back defensively. âPoor bastard couldnât even bite into an apple anymore. Had to drink everything through straws since then.â
You shook your head, still smiling as you blinked against the changing sky overhead. You hadnât even realized how much time had passed until now. The blackness of night had begun dissolving into muted shades of violet and gray, the first pale traces of dawn slowly bleeding into the edges of the world.
For a moment you simply stared at it.
The sunrise.
Or at least the beginning of one.
A strange sadness settled in your chest at the realization that this might become the last one you would ever comfortably witness.
Beside you, Max hissed quietly under his breath.
âThis,â he muttered, squinting toward the brightening horizon, âis about to become a problem.â
Your head snapped toward him immediately, genuine alarm flashing across your face. âHey, you specifically told me sunlight doesnât kill us.â
âIt doesnât,â he assured you quickly. âBut thereâs a difference between surviving daylight and enjoying it.â
You remembered then. Every forced daytime meeting youâd had before all of this. The sunglasses. The headaches. The irritation hidden beneath his sarcasm whenever sunlight got too harsh.
âYouâre feeling fit enough to move?â you asked, your gaze instinctively flicking over the places Torres had shot him.
Max stretched slightly with an exaggerated groan. âDepends.â
âOn?â
âHow committed are you to carrying me all the way back to Brooklyn?â
You snorted immediately as you pushed yourself upright, still refusing to let go of his hand and therefore forcing him to rise with you. âAbsolutely zero chance.â
âCruel woman.â
âGet moving, grandpa. Before you burst into flames dramatically.â
He grumbled something under his breath about disrespecting elders while you brushed dirt and loose gravel from your clothes.
You had already turned toward the path leading back through the field when Maxâs hand suddenly tightened around your wrist, gentle but enough to stop you.
You turned back toward him instinctively, caught off guard by the sudden closeness as he stepped nearer.
For one suspended moment, uncertainty curled low in your stomach.
Because you knew what that look could mean.
And you werenât entirely sure yet where your boundaries with him existed now. You had allowed closeness tonight, yes. Allowed comfort. Allowed him beside you despite everything. But a kiss felt different somehow.
Your gaze flicked briefly to his mouth before returning to his eyes.
Max, however, only studied your face for a second before reaching up to brush strands of hair away from your cheek, his finger dragging lightly through one of the dried streaks still staining your skin.
âI think,â he murmured softly, âwe should probably wash some of the blood off our faces before rejoining civilization.â
You stared at him for a second longer than necessary.
Max wasnât entirely sure what to make of the expression on your face.
And suddenly you had a clear answer on what you wanted him to do.
There had been something soft in your eyes for a second too long, something that made him painfully aware of how close you stood. Rather than testing whatever fragile line existed between you though, he simply guided you down toward the water instead, both of you crouching near the edge to wash the remaining blood from your skin as best you could.
The harbor water was freezing against his fingers.
You hissed under your breath the second another streak of pale morning light spread over the horizon. âJesus Christ,â you muttered, shielding your eyes as you straightened again. âWhy is it already so bright?â
Max glanced upward with an expression that mirrored your annoyance. Dawn had barely begun, the sky still painted mostly in deep blues and bruised purples, but already it felt offensively sharp against heightened senses.
âThere goes my dream vacation to the Maldives,â you groaned.
Max let out a dry chuckle while rubbing at one eye. âYeah, tropical islands are probably off the table now. On the upside, I hear Scandinavia is beautiful six months out of the year.â
You barely seemed to hear him. You squinted around the waterfront like someone developing the worldâs worst migraine, jaw tightening more with every passing second.
Max was just about to suggest you start heading home before the sunlight got worse when you suddenly turned on your heel and started marching back up the slope toward the trail.
âAshley - hey.â He stumbled after you instinctively.
You lifted one hand without even looking back, stopping him immediately. âStay here. Iâll be back in a minute.â
And somehow, absurdly, that was enough.
Max watched you disappear over the rise and felt absolutely no fear that you wouldnât return.
A few hours ago he would have. A few hours ago he would have expected you to vanish into the city and never look back. But now?
Now you had sat beside him through the entire night. You had held his hand. Saved his life. Laughed with him under the stars.
So he stayed where he was.
The shoreline had become almost peaceful in the growing dawn, the dark water shifting in slow silver ripples beneath the pale sky. Max tipped his head back and took a long unnecessary breath, eyes closing briefly against the cold breeze rolling in from the bay.
Never in thirty years of undeath could he have imagined a night ending like this.
Not after Torres. Not after your death. Not after the look you had given him when you walked out of his apartment hours ago, furious and shattered and certain he had destroyed your life.
And yet somehow you had ended up here instead.
He was still trying to process that impossible fact when movement caught his eye again.
You came jogging back down the hill toward him, slightly out of breath now, a wide grin spreading across your face. Something dangled from one hand as you closed the distance between you.
Max blinked once before barking out a laugh.
âOh no.â
You held them up triumphantly: two of the ugliest pairs of sunglasses he had ever seen in his entire existence. One pair looked aggressively neon. The other resembled something a retired marathon runner would wear during a midlife crisis.
âThey absolutely will not be joining my collection,â Max informed you solemnly while taking the less horrifying pair.
âThey better,â you shot back, still breathless. âDo you have any idea how hard it is convincing random joggers to hand over their sunglasses to a woman covered in blood?â
Max slid the glasses onto his face and immediately winced at the design. âYou forgot to mention the Halloween pajama pants. That probably complicated negotiations.â
You looked down at yourself before glaring at him over the oversized frames now perched on your nose. âIâm sorry, are you giving me fashion advice while dressed like a divorcee from 1995?â
Max grinned despite himself.
The city had always known how to look away from people who appeared a little broken around the edges. In a place like New York, bloodstains, exhaustion and strange behavior barely ranked high enough to earn more than a passing glance, especially not in the gray-blue hour between night and morning when the first commuters drifted through the streets half awake and wrapped tightly in their own lives.
And as the first real sunlight finally began breaking over the horizon behind you, while that reluctant smile still lingered on your mouth, he realized with painful clarity that he wanted nothing more than to kiss you again.
A few people looked twice as you and Max emerged from Church Avenue station, but nobody stopped you. Nobody asked questions. A woman in scrubs hurried past with coffee in hand. A delivery driver cursed at his phone. Somewhere farther down the block, metal shutters rattled open for the beginning of another ordinary day.
Beside you, Max adjusted the atrocious sunglasses perched on his nose and glanced over with the faintest trace of amusement. âWish Iâd brought my camera,â he said with a grin. âThis whole look weâve got going on deserves documentation.â
You peered at him over the rim of your borrowed glasses and instantly regretted it as the early dawn stabbed into your eyes like needles.
Even sitting across from him in the nearly empty subway car earlier had felt surreal enough to burn itself permanently into your memory. You had occupied opposite benches in silence for stretches at a time, the train rattling beneath you while fluorescent lights flickered overhead. Max had lounged back, arms stretched casually across the backs of the seats, ankle resting atop one knee with effortless confidence that should have looked ridiculous considering the state he was in.
âTrust me,â you muttered, squinting hard. âI donât think Iâll ever forget this night even without photos.â
Instead, it had only made him look more himself.
His curls were stiff with dried blood. The fabric of his shirt had been torn open where the bullets had hit him, stained brown-red and ruined beyond saving. There were shadows beneath his eyes that no healing could erase immediately, and yet he had still carried himself with that same infuriating ease, studying advertisements above the windows as if he hadnât nearly died only hours ago.
You had caught yourself staring longer than intended.
âDefinitely top five most memorable nights,â Max pulled you from your thoughts.
You snorted softly while you crossed the quiet street toward your building. âOnly top five?â you asked, walking backward for a few steps just to keep looking at him. âWow. Iâm offended.â
âWhat can I say?â Max lifted one shoulder. âLA was a deeply irresponsible place.â
âBefore or after the vampire thing?â
âBoth.â
You reached the front entrance first and leaned against the wall beside it while Max stepped close enough for the scent of him to wrap around you again, warm despite the cold morning air. He pulled his keys free, caging you loosely between himself and the door without seeming fully aware he was doing it. Or maybe entirely aware.
At this distance you could see the tiny cuts already healed across his face, the faint exhaustion still lingering around his mouth, the way dawn light softened the sharper edges of him. Your gaze dipped briefly to his lips before you could stop yourself.
âNeed to hear your top five now, obviously,â you said, and hated how breathless your voice sounded.
The lock clicked open beneath his hand.
âOh, easy.â His grin deepened as he nudged the door inward. âFifth place definitely goes to a house party in 1978 where somebody accidentally set an indoor fountain on fire.â
You blinked. âYou canât set water on fire.â
âThat was also my understanding at the time,â Max replied solemnly as you stepped into the dim stairwell. âTurns out cocaine and homemade electrical wiring can achieve incredible things.â
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it, echoing softly up the stairs.
Max glanced back over his shoulder, satisfaction flickering briefly across his face before he continued upward beside you. âAnyway, by two in the morning somebody had stolen a police horse, there was a drummer passed out in a bathtub full of oranges, and I distinctly remember escaping through a window because the hostâs girlfriend tried to stab me with a fondue fork.â
You stared at him in disbelief. âThat sounds made up.â
âIt absolutely does,â he agreed. âWhich is why it only made fifth place.â
âWhatâs fourth place?â you asked as you climbed the stairs, nearly missing a step because you were too busy watching him instead of where you put your feet. Your hand caught the railing at the last second, and Max glanced back with immediate amusement.
âMy turning, probably,â he answered after a moment of thought. âI donât remember much of the actual event, but there was definitely a party involved. Feels wrong not to rank it somewhere.â
You hummed softly. The answer settled strangely inside your chest. The wound of your own turning still felt too fresh - too raw to touch directly - but you supposed he was right. Whether you liked it or not, that night would probably carve itself permanently into the architecture of your existence too.
âFair enough,â you said quietly before forcing a lighter tone back into your voice. âAlright, then whatâs third? And please tell me it involves less dying.â
Max laughed under his breath as you reached your floor. âNo dying. Technically a felony, though.â He paused dramatically while fishing his keys from his pocket. âMe and a couple school friends broke into the zoo when I was maybe eight or nine. We stole a penguin.â
You stared at him. âYou what?â
âI have to say he seemed excited to come with us.â
âThat poor animal.â
Max opened the apartment door and held it for you with effortless familiarity - and equally naturally you stepped inside without waiting to be invited.
âIâm telling you,â he continued while closing the door behind you, âI had a solid plan. We had a perfectly functional refrigerator.â
You kicked off your boots near the entrance and snorted softly. âYour mother mustâve loved you.â
âShe threatened to send me back to the zoo with him.â
The warmth of the apartment wrapped around you instantly, dim and quiet compared to the cold dawn outside. You removed the hideous sunglasses with visible relief and wandered toward the small brass mirror hanging beside the door. In the softened light you could finally properly see yourself again: dried blood still shadowed the edge of your jaw despite your attempt to clean up by the water, your hair an unruly mess around tired golden eyes that no longer quite looked human.
Behind you, Max slipped off his coat, draping it over the back of a chair. His reflection appeared in the mirror a second later, close enough that you could feel his presence before he even spoke.
âSo,â you murmured while rubbing at the stubborn stain on your skin, âtonight only gets second place?â
âIt was a strong contender,â he admitted easily.
You looked at him through the mirror. âAnd first?â
For a second he simply watched you. Then his mouth curved slowly into that infuriatingly smug grin you already knew far too well.
âI assumed that one was obvious.â
You turned fully toward him, brows lifting in confusion as he stepped closer. The distance between you dissolved with dangerous ease until he stood directly in front of you again.
âYou played a pretty significant role in it,â he said softly.
Realization hit you all at once, and a breathless laugh escaped before you could stop it. âWow. That memorable, huh?â
âLife-changing, honestly.â
His hand lifted to cup your jaw, thumb brushing softly across clean skin this time instead of blood. The touch sent warmth unfurling low in your stomach so fast it almost startled you.
âMaybe my memory needs refreshing though,â he added, voice lower now, teasing threaded through the exhaustion.
Your pulse no longer existed, but your body still found ways to betray anticipation. âRemind me,â you whispered, âare there any more rules I should know about?â
Max leaned down slowly, lips ghosting against your cheek without quite kissing you, and goosebumps erupted along your arms instantly. He lingered there for a moment before stopping just shy of your mouth, his gaze fixed steadily on yours.
âOnly one,â he murmured. âIâve had enough blood for one night.â
His fingers slid gently through your tangled hair before he offered you the faintest smile.
âSo first,â he said softly, âwe clean up.â
Summary: Joel's first month with his baby olive and him being in love with his family.
w.c: 4,3k
warnings: just fluff. (Soft Joel)
A/N: Baby Olive and Joel are here, and well, the whole gang. I often miss writing this story, but I love being able to come back to them everytime I want and writing more about it. I hope you enjoy this fluffy one and please, if you want to particularly read something about them, let me know as well.
PLEASE SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS WITH ME!
From the days of you and I but you can read it alone.
THEN
The fire crackled softly in the middle. The night had fallen into a cold pit of darkness, only lightened by the flames of that fire in front of you.
Ellie had fallen asleep almost an hour ago, curled beneath a blanket on the opposite side of the camp, one arm hanging off her backpack, snoring lightly enough that she would deny it in the morning.
Joel sat against the stone, poking absentmindedly at the fire with a stick.
You had been watching him for a while. How the orange glow danced across his features, softening the hard lines the years had carved into his face.
You shifted closer, seeking warmth. Joel noticed, and without a word, he adjusted, making room for you beside him.
Your shoulder brushed his arm.
"Tell me again."
Joel glanced at you. "Tell you what?"
"About the farm."
He sighed. "The farm again?"
"Yes." You smiled.
His eyes rolled slightly, but there was no real annoyance behind it.
"The sheep?"
You nodded. "The sheep."
Joel looked back at the fire. "There'd be sheep."
A small smile tugged at your mouth. "What else?"
"A porch."
"You always say that."
"Because every house needs a porch."
"According to who?"
"Me."
You laughed quietly and Joel's mouth twitched.
You loved those little almost-smiles. The ones he tried to hide.
"What else?"
Joel thought for a moment. "A garden, maybe."
"Are you going to garden?"
"No."
You laughed again.
"You just saidâ"
"I said there'd be a garden."
"Who takes care of it then?"
"Somebody." Joel shrugged.
You narrowed your eyes. "Somebody."
"Yes.â A small and brief smile splattered across his face.
"You've thought about it a lot." Your voice softened.
Joel was quiet for a moment. The fire popped.
"Yeah."
"Does that include me?"
Joel froze. The stick in his hand stopped moving.
"What?"
"The farm." Your voice was barely above a whisper.
You stared at the flames. Unable to look at him now.
"Does it include me?"
Then Joel looked at you.
"Of course, baby.â
Your head lifted, meeting his eyes. Joel looked away first, ashamed.
"Yeah," he repeated. "Of course it included you."
The corner of your mouth lifted. A smile you couldn't stop, even if you tried.
âAnd would you like to have a baby in there?â you asked.
Joel nearly choked. His head snapped toward you.
"What?"
You laughed quietly. "The farm."
"I heard the question."
"Then answer it."
Joel stared at you as though you'd completely lost your mind.
You couldn't help smiling.
"A baby?"
"Yes."
Joel rubbed a hand over his face. "Fuck, baby."
"What?"
"You ask the strangest questions."
You nudged his shoulder.
"You thought about having a sheep."
"That's different."
You laughed.
Joel shook his head, but there was no irritation behind it.
The firelight danced across his face. You watched him carefully.
"Well?"
Joel sighed heavily.
"I don't know."
You raised an eyebrow. "You don't know?"
"No." His gaze returned to the fire.
For a moment, he seemed older and more vulnerable than usual.
"Itâs not something I let myself think about."
NOW
âBabe?â Joel called out, carefully. Voice low as he stepped upstairs.
Over the last four weeks he had learned how to lower his voice tone. Now that there was a baby living inside these walls, even his footsteps had lowered.
It has been a month since Oliveâs birth. Since that little bundle had come unexpectedly to your lives during that especially warm day.
The memory of her tucked against your chest afterwards still lingered in the back of his mind, the feeling of her slippery skin on his hands after he handed her to you felt like a tattoo all over his skin.
Life had started to smell like roses ever since Olive came. That kind of essence that clings tightly to you. That permeates your clothes and your skin, that stays with you at all times and that you can't wash off no matter how much water you use.
Perhaps it wasn't a real smell, perhaps it was just a sudden moment of a feeling that Joel wouldn't be able to recognize again.
One he was learning about.
Being a father, once again.
If Joel Miller could see the boy who first held Sarah in his arms, a young man unsure of what to do with the responsibility life had placed upon him, he wouldn't believe that the man he had become was still so terrified. It was a fact; the man who first held Olive Miller was terrified too.
The decades-long age difference between them didn't change the outcome of an act born of the heart. They were both terrified of it because no one prepares you for being a father.
Yet somehow, everything felt lighter this time.
Soft and worth it.
Perhaps it was because he had you by his side and he wasnât all by himself this time. He had a partner to lean on, to share the countless of sleepless nights with, to laugh with when Olive decided three in the morning was the perfect time to be awake and staring at the ceiling.
Someone who understood him.
Someone who had lived the same things as him.
Someone who loved that little girl as much as him and someone who looked at the daughter the both had made the same way he did.
Like she was a miracle.
Your miracle.
"Babe?" Joel called out again, eyebrows frowned at the absence of noise in the house.
He followed the silence to the bedroom. Step by step, noticing the door was half open, light going through the space as in heaven, or at least what he imagined of.
Joel pushed the door gently.
And of course, there you were.
Asleep on the bed, with one arm stretched above your head and Olive tucked on your chest.
The baby was sleeping with her tiny cheek pressed on you, her little fist curled around the fabric of your, well his shirt as though even in sleep she needed to make sure you were still there.
Her mother was there.
Joelâs heart clenched in the most beautiful way. He still couldnât get used to this life.
Joel still couldn't understand why a man like him now had the opportunity to see this with his own eyes, that behind a door a wife and daughter were waiting for him instead of the announced death that had hunted him for so long and that had found him more than a year ago.
So, for a long moment he just stood there, watching and tasting the flavor of a quiet life.
Your now longer hair spreading on the pillow beneath your head, and OliveÂŽs dark curls starting to appear as little wisps on the top of her head.
He noticed and the sunlight through the window painted both of you in gold and for a quiet flicker moment, Joel thought this was heaven for him.
A month ago, you both have been through the overwhelming panic of bringing a child into a world like this.
Just to ended up on here, with this picture of you and your baby sleeping on your shared bed.
Joel leaned on the doorframe, smirking at the memory of Tommyâs voice after he had met Olive.
"You arenât gonna stop staring at those two anymore."
And he was right, Joel would never stop looking for you in every room.
Your eyes opened, suddenly. Carrying slept and confusion, but when they met his, a smile spread across your face.
"Hey you," you murmured.
Joel stepped closer, carefully not to make any noise "Iâve been looking for you."
A tired smile appeared on your face. âOh, we were taking a nap."
"I can see that."
You looked down at how Olive remained completely asleep in your arms.
"She won." You spoke.
"Again?"
"Again."
Joel sat carefully on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped beneath his weight.
His hand found Olive's head, feeling the warmth of her tiny body beneath his fingertips, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest and that tiny heartbeat hidden beneath the floral onesie.
You studied him. You had noticed him doing the same ever since she was born.
"You know she's breathing, right?"
"Mm." Joel grunted.
"And alive."
"Mm."
"And she is perfectly healthy."
"Mm."
You smiled.
"Joel."
Finally, he looked up. The expression on your face was so fond it almost embarrassed him.
He believed you were the most beautiful woman he had ever met, not because he loved you with all his heart and soul, but because you had saved his life in ways, he no longer thought possible.
In the old world, he had never imagined growing old with someone, and when the world transformed into a nightmare that smelled of death, those thoughts faded into the back of his mind, to never return.
But one day, death was stalking him, perhaps not him, but you.
For many times, he remembered your widened eyes staring directly at him, the gun in his hand, a lifeless body beside you, and the trembling in your gaze because you didn't understand why a complete stranger had saved you from a Clicker.
At that very moment, Joel didn't know he had sealed his fate with a story that men like him don't have, that perhaps they don't deserve, yet somehow, life had placed it in his hands anyway.
Because at this very moment, looking at your tired face, the bags under your eyes, and the gray hairs that had begun to adorn your hair, all the thoughts of growing old with someone had returned.
Just to watch year passing by instead of merely surviving to them.
Just to watch his baby growing.
âYou are exhausted, baby.â he said, looking at you.
âYes, I am, but I donât care.â You said, looking at him, but moving your gaze to look down at your daughter.
Joel's gaze followed your gaze to your daughter.
Olive was still asleep against you, completely unaware of the effect she had on the two of you.
A tiny hand rested against your chest. Her presence lingered in every corner of the room.
You brushed your fingertip on her cheek and Joel watched you.
"You know," you murmured softly, "I thought I'd be more afraid."
Joel raised an eyebrow. "Of what?"
You smiled faintly. "All of this." You said, "I thought I'd spend every day worried that something would happen."
Joel understood that feeling immediately because he still carried the fear everywhere he went to.
Every day, every hour.
Every time Olive slept longer than usual.
Every time you left the room with her.
Every time he closed his eyes at night.
"I just keep looking at her." A small laugh escaped you. "And then I forget to be scared."
Perhaps that was something motherhood gave women. A kind of bravery he couldn't quite understand and the ability to walk straight into fear and somehow find wonder waiting on the other side.
You looked down at your daughter again. At the tiny face pressed against your chest.
âThe day she was born she mended my heart, Joel.â You said, smiling at him this time.
Joel smiled too.
He raised his hand to caress your face, gently brushing your cheeks with his thumb, a gesture that made you close your eyes.
You kissed his wrist because after all the time you had spent together, you both had learnt how to speak a secret language which didnât need of words but gestures to be understood.
"Now, what if I took this beautiful tiny baby and mommy rests?" he asked, already reaching toward Olive. "When baby sleeps, mommy should as well."
You laughed softly a that. "You've said that about 3 times today."
"And I'll say it three more."
"Joelâ"
"Nope."
You rolled your eyes. Of course, he would say something like that. Over the past month, he had become the most protective man in the world.
Protective of you.
Protective of Olive.
Joel carefully slipped his hands beneath Olive, moving with a confidence that he hasnât four weeks ago.
Back then, he had held her like she was made of glass, but right now his hands knew his baby. He knew how to support her little head and he knew exactly how to settle her against his chest.
Olive barely stirred at his father touch as a tiny sigh escaped her lips.
Joel smiled at that, so you as well.
You loved him so much, but that feeling didnât hurt anymore. It didnât startle you anymore.
This feeling now came to you so naturally that you had finally learned how to love him without the fear taunting you.
Joel adjusted Olive against his chest.
His gaze lifted to yours. "What?"
You hadn't realized you were staring every movement he made.
"Nothing."
"Liar."
You laughed. "You are a really good dad."
You meant it.
Joel looked away. That alone told you how much it affected him.
His jaw tightened and his attention became very focused on the baby in his arms.
"Joel."
"Mm."
"You truly are."
His eyes still lingered on Olive. The little girl had somehow managed to wrap her tiny fingers around the collar of his shirt in her sleep.
His entire expression softened. That sight still amazed you.
At how this hardened man became soft. How every wall he'd spent years building crumbled.
Joel swallowed, then finally looked back at you. âI got myself a good teacher."
Your heart squeezed at his words because he was talking about the way you had stepped into this new life together.
You reached for his wrist, the same one he was using to support Olive, and then, you pressed a soft kiss there.
Joel's eyes softened, "Go get some sleep, baby," he said quietly.
Suddenly, the exhaustion hit you a little bit deeper.
"Okay." You whispered.
Joel smiled, then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
"I got her."
After ten minutes, the room fell into silence and for the first time in all day, you were asleep and Joel intended to make sure it stayed that way.
So, he quietly pulled the bedroom door almost closed and carried Olive downstairs since the little baby had chosen to wake up right now.
He curious hazel brown eyes like his, very wide as he walked her down to the living room.
"Well," Joel murmured. "Looks like it's just you and me, baby girl."
Olive answered with a long babble.
Joel nodded "Mm. I agree, baby."
Another, this time louder sound, followed.
"You're right about that too."
Her tiny legs kicked in his arms and he smiled. He'd discovered over the last month that babies apparently had a lot to say despite not knowing any words.
And Olive especially seemed convinced she was able to hold long conversations with people around her.
Joel adjusted her to his chest and continued walking. The floor creaking beneath his feet as when paced by.
Outside, Jackson carried the busy of the days, but inside these walls it was just him and his tiny baby.
His baby Olive.
It felt almost unreal how he was in charge of a tiny human who now was staring up at him as if expecting for him to do something.
Joel raised an eyebrow. "What?"
A tiny squeal came from her lips.
He sighed. "Fine."
"Okay, baby, do you wanna hear a story?"
She babbled as an answer, so Joel took that as a yes.
"Alright." He settled into a slow pace around the room. "When I was little..."
Olive's eyes followed him carefully.
"There was this dog."
The baby's eyebrows furrowed and Joel smiled.
"His name was Buddy." Joel hadn't talked about his childhood in years, but for his daughter he would deep in those vaults of memories.
"Buddy wasn't very smart."
Olive let out a tiny noise.
"Yeah, that's what I thought too."
He continued walking. "He used to steal food right off the kitchen table."
The baby responded with another string of incomprehensible sounds.
"Now hold on. I'm telling the story here, baby."
But she squealed and Joel couldnât hold the laugh back.
The sound was strange and foreign for him most of the times, but it had become common since Olive arrived.
"Okay, so one day," he continued, "Buddy stole half a chicken for our barbecue."
Olive's eyes widened.
"That's right and Oh, it gets worse."
Joel shifted her higher on his shoulder.
"He ran through the whole neighborhood with it."
The baby made a delighted sound.
"Your uncle Tommy chased him for three blocks."
Olive suddenly burst into a laugh. One of those early babies sounds that seem a squeal and a giggle at the same time.
Joel froze, his eyes widened. "Did you just laugh?"
Olive stared at him. Her tiny face scrunched in an adorable way Joel felt something in his chest completely melt at the sight.
"You're trouble, little bird."
Olive made another happy noise.
"Yeah." He kissed the top of her head; her soft curls tickled his lips.
For a moment he imagined the years ahead with her. Olive running through the farmhouse. Her chasing chickens, learning how to ride a horse and she growing taller and older.
It was a beautiful thought but it terrified him. He had seen his baby Sarah grow until life took her away and he didnât know if he was going to be lucky to witness Olive becoming a strong beautiful woman.
"Don't grow up too fast, alright?" he murmured.
Olive immediately yawned.
Joel chuckled. "Yeah, I know itâs pretty tiring.
The baby settled further against his chest as Joel continued pacing slowly around the living room.
The little girl was fighting sleep again. Her eyelids kept drooping only to snap open again a second later, as though she was terrified she might miss something important her father had to say.
Joel smiled. "Do you wanna hear a princess story now?"
Olive blinked up at him, then she made a tiny sound.
Joel nodded. "Just what I thought."
He adjusted the blanket around her. "Alright."
His eyes drifted briefly toward the ceiling, his thoughts drifting to the bedroom where you slept.
Then he looked back at his daughter. "Once upon a time there was a princess."
Olive immediately kicked her feet.
"Now, this wasn't one of those fancy princesses. âHe continued walking. "She didnât have a castle."
Olive babbled.
"Nope." He smiled, "She didnât have crown either."
More babbling.
"Yes, I know. Doesn't sound much like a princess."
The baby seemed deeply concerned by this and Joel laughed quietly.
"But she was one." He glanced upstairs again. "Because she was the bravest person anybody had ever met."
Olive stared at him, listening. Perhaps she was only looking at his beard, Joel kept talking anyway.
"This princess was stubborn." A pause. "Real stubborn. She never listened."
The baby squealed.
âJust like you, baby.â
He walked another lap around the room âAnd one day she found this grumpy man."
Olive blinked as Joel pointed at himself.
"That's me."
The baby immediately grabbed at his shirt.
"Yeah." His smile softened. "The old man wasn't very nice. He thought he was better off alone."
Joel's voice had become quieter now. "He thought every good thing in his life was gone."
Olive rested her cheek against his chest, listening to the vibration of his voice.
"Then this princess showed up."
Joel swallowed, His gaze drifting up.
"She kept bothering him."
The baby yawned.
"And she wouldn't leave him alone." Joel could picture the way you'd roll your eyes at him.
A warmth spread through his chest. "The princess saved him."
His hand moved gently over Olive's back.
"Twice."
His voice softened even further. The kind of softness that only existed around you and Olive.
"The first time she saved his life was she came to his life,â he smiled at the memory, âThe second timeâŠâ
His mind drifted to those moments where he should've died and the moment you had refused to let him go.
His eyes held Oliveâs ones. âShe gave him something he thought he'd never have again.â He went silent for a moment, his throat suddenly trembled. âA family and the most beautiful girl in the love.â
Joel smiled. "The old man got everything he ever wanted."
You hadn't meant to eavesdrop what Joel was saying. You had only woken up because ethe bed felt empty because after years of walking beside Joel, your body noticed his absence before your mind could.
So, you had followed the sound of his voice downstairs, but now you were standing in silence and listening as your heart felts immense.
Joel had his back partially turned toward you, completely unaware of your presence.
Still talking softly to your sleeping daughter. "The thing about your mom," he continued, "is she doesn't know what she did to me." A small laugh followed. "Or maybe she does."
You felt tears prick your eyes immediately and Joel adjusted Olive higher on his shoulder you knew his expression softened.
"I spent a long time thinking I wasn't meant to have any of this." His gaze moved around the room and he thought of the future ahead for the three of you.
Then he looked back down at Olive.
"But then she showed up and she stayed." He smiled at Olive, "and somehow that stubborn woman convinced me I deserved this."
"You do."
Joel froze and his head snapped up to the bottom of the stairs where you were.
Sleep-rumpled hair and his shirt hanging off one shoulder.
"How long you been standing there?"
"Enough to hear those beautiful things you were saying." You smiled despite the tears threatening to spill.
Joel closed his eyes. "Damn it.".
He looked shy, a ridiculous thing for Joel Miller to be.
"You were supposed to be asleep."
"I was."
You took a few steps closer. Olive had lost her fight to sleep, it seemed like the stories her father was telling worked. The little girl was completely asleep against Joel's chest, her tiny mouth slightly open, one hand still clutching his shirt.
You stopped in front of him, Joel noticed the tears gathering in your eyes.
"Oh no."
"Oh, no?" You laughed.
"You cry, I cry."
Your heart squeezed painfully and you smiled, stepping closer until your forehead rested on his shoulder.
Joel immediately tilted his head toward yours, his cheek brushing your hair.
For a few moments neither of you spoke, all you could hear was the steady beat of Joel's heart beneath your ear.
The sound home.
"You know," you murmured, your voice muffled on his shoulder, "I wasn't supposed to hear that."
Joel groaned. "Yeah, well."
"You told her I saved you twice."
His arms tightened slightly around Olive. A nervous habit he had developed whenever emotions became involved.
"You did."
You closed your eyes for a moment, lifting your head to look at him.
His eyes were already on you."I didn't save you, Joel."
A faint smile touched his mouth, âBabyâŠâ The way he said it immediately told you he disagreed. "You did."
You shook your head. âNo."
Joel looked down at Olive, then back at you.
And suddenly his expression softened, "you gave me something to stay for."
Joel rarely spoke about himself this way. Rarely let anyone see these pieces. Yet somehow, ever since Olive had been born, he seemed a little more willing to let you see those vulnerable parts.
Maybe because becoming a father again had cracked something open inside him. Maybe because loving Olive had reminded him how to have hope.
"You gave me her." His gaze drifted to Olive, then like gravity pulling you both in, his gaze found yours "And you."
His voice broke âI got both."
Then leaned forward, pressing a long kiss on your temple. Inhaling you in, the smell of roses in your head and the scent of baby plastered in your skin. He closed his eyes for a second, taking in his reality.
âAre you gonna eat me, Joel Miller?â you asked, curving your lips.
You felt his lips going upwards against your temple.
âYou know I could.â He said, smiling still there.
He pulled back to look at you, the corners of his eyes crinkled.
âI'm serious,â he said. âYou're very cute.â
Your eyebrows shot âDid you just call me cute?â
Joel immediately regretted speaking; you could see it happen.
âOh, this is great,â you said.
âForget I said that.â
âNever. You think I'm cute.â
Joel groaned, as you laughed.
Olive stirred slightly between you because of the sound.
Both of you immediately froze. A month into parenthood and you had already developed the same instinct.
Don't wake the baby.
The tiny girl shifted against Joel's chest, sighed, then settled quietly again. The three of you remained still for another few seconds.
Just in case.
Finally, Joel exhaled.
âSee what you did?â
âWhat I did?â
âGot her all worked up.â
His hand found yours automatically, thumb brushing across your knuckles. Inside this house the world felt very small.
You looked at Olive sleeping peacefully against his chest, then at Joel.
At the man who had spent years convinced happiness wasn't meant for him. The man who still looked surprised every morning when he woke up beside you.
Your chest tightened.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked.
You smiled, âYouâre such a good father, Joel.â
Joel's expression softened immediately, so he leaned forward, kissing your lips so slowly it was dangerous if you hadnât a baby in the middle.
Afterwards, neither of you said anything because some moments were too full for words.
Joel looked down at his daughter again.
Then at you.
His girls, his whole world, standing right in front of him.
And as he wrapped an arm around your waist and pressed another kiss on your hair, he thought that maybe happiness wasn't something you earned.
Maybe it was something that arrived unexpectedly one warm day of August, wrapped in his own clothes, with a fatherâs eyes and a motherâs nose.
And maybe, if he was lucky, he would get to spend the rest of his life holding onto it.
